


starting from scratch

by i_am_sion



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Infidelity/Cheating, waitress (broadway musical) au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:09:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23326039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_sion/pseuds/i_am_sion
Summary: a waitress baking pies, an abusive husband, and a baby on the way.a new doctor in town, a spark, and a series of pretty good bad ideas.setleth meets the waitress au no one asked for.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Marianne von Edmund/Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, My Unit | Byleth & Seteth, My Unit | Byleth/Seteth
Comments: 54
Kudos: 146





	1. deep shit blueberry bacon

“Sugar, butter, flour....”

Byleth mumbles to herself as she scans the pantry for inspiration. 

“Blueberries.”

Good. Classic. Can’t go wrong with blueberries.

“Bacon…”

_...bacon?_

She thinks about it. Imagines the flavors rolling around her tongue without the bias of the nagging craving for bacon that worries her in the back of her head. Wonders how exactly she’d pull this off without having grease settle amongst the fruit. But she can’t linger on it too long because the oven is already at 375 and in--

She glances at the clock, hands already full of fresh blueberries and an open pack of bacon their crotchety old chef wouldn’t miss--

In about forty-five minutes, Felix would come in and get some eggs on the grill. He’d grumble a “good morning” under his breath only _after_ his pancake batter was done and then he’d start on those. In about an hour, the girls would come in, bleary-eyed and shivering from the early morning air. They’d set the tables and sweep. In about an hour and a half, they’d be open for business.

It’s clockwork.

Byleth sets to work on her pie. She figures she’d dice the bacon into bits, for little salty surprises between bites of blueberry and… whipped-- no, maple cream. Yes! To complement the bacon and tie it with the fruit. She makes the whipped maple cream while the crust is in the oven, pilfering just a little syrup from the cupboard to mix for the filling. She doesn’t know why but this always feels like _stealing_. This would be her seventh year at the shop come late spring, which is fast approaching. Everything in the kitchen she had the right to use. She’d practically raised this dinky little diner with her own two hands and might even go so far as to say she was the backbone of it if she didn’t feel so small.

So replaceable.

The minutes tick by without her noticing. 

Her head swims as she works, spinning with each tiny movement, but she presses on. The crust is done and somehow it’s a little deeper than she planned it to be, but that’s okay. She can work with this. She just whips up a little more whipped maple cream and washes another pint of blueberries to balance it out. 

The bell on the front door chimes and Felix stomps in, his boots heavy on the tiles. He catches her guiltily chewing on some bacon. His eyes narrow, but he doesn’t say anything because he needs to get some eggs scrambled.

The two of them work side by side in the little kitchen in comfortable silence, and it’s only until after there are pancakes waiting to be flipped that Felix tells her good morning.

“Mornin’, Felix,” Byleth says politely as she gives her latest creation a taste. It’s missing something. She huffs and goes off to make some sort of icing to drizzle over it, using more of that maple syrup and a dash of powdered sugar.

She tests it again.

It’s perfect. 

With the pie out of the way, she figures she’d help with breakfast and starts peeling potatoes for hash browns. “How’s the wife?”

“Haven’t seen her.”

Byleth purses her lips. Shouldn’t have asked.

The bell on the front door rings again, and Marianne and Annette waddle in, bundled up in jackets that are definitely too thin. Later on would be a lot warmer, but for now they look miserable.

“Morning, Byleth!” Annette chirps, warming her hands over the grill.

“Could you not?” Felix snarls at her, waving his spatula in a _shoo_ motion.

“Oh, shove off, Felix.” 

Byleth chuckles at their bickering. “Morning, Annete. Morning, Marianne.”

“Good morning….” Marianne nods as she ties her apron over her blue dress. “I saw this really nice documentary about seagulls last night, and wouldn’t you know it? We saw a few this morning. ' _Sea_ -gulls' must be a misnomer.” She giggles, extremely pleased.

“Uh… huh.” Byleth stops peeling potatoes for a moment to think about that one. They're really far inland, surrounded by miles and miles of highway and farms, so it didn’t make much sense to her why there would be seagulls. She couldn't make sense out of a lot of what Marianne talks about in the first place, or why these things fascinate her so. But her coworker of 2 years seems tickled by the fact, so Byleth lets her be.

"How're you doing today?" Annette scoots away from the stove before Felix could hip check her. "You were pretty green in the face yesterday…"

"And the day before," adds Marianne.

"Still a little nauseous," Byleth replies, setting a skinned spud aside. "Nothing I can't handle."

"Don't push yourself too hard, okay? Let us know if you need us to cover a table or two."

While the other two waitresses set up shop, Felix turns on the radio to drown out their chatter. He'd have to change it to something more family friendly when they open up, but for now they all let him listen to his country rock ballads about beer and trucks and body counts of the sexual kind. Byleth loses herself to the music, staring blankly at the calendar, right next to the ticket holder.

She’s late.

Actually, she’s far from late. It’s March. She has completely skipped a period.

And this nausea and these cravings, getting worse and worse every day….

Byleth wonders if she could get away with it. She wonders if maybe it isn’t too late to have Annette drive her to a big city and find a doctor there who would… 

Her husband would never know. He doesn't have to know.

But of course that plan would involve telling Annette, who can’t keep a secret to save her life and then finding some excuse to get out of town--

_“Byleth,”_ Felix calls her for the fourth time, exasperated. “Are you gonna grate those potatoes with a proper grater or keep whittling away at them with the peeler?”

She looks at her scrap pile. It’s got good chunks of actual potato in it on top of the skins. “Oh. Sorry.”

He sighs, wiping their specials chalkboard down. “What’s the special pie today?”

“Uh, deep shit blueberry bacon.”

“...deep _shit?_ ” He narrows his eyes at her.

The woman holds the back of her hand to her mouth. “ _Dish!_ I meant dish… Sorry, again, Felix.”

“Get it together.” He shakes his head and writes it down. “Bacon and blueberries, huh. What's next? Ham and cantaloupe?”

There's an idea.

"Actually--"

"Get out of my kitchen."

A laugh bubbles from her throat. She goes to wash her hands and takes the board out to display by the counter seats.

In about fifteen minutes, Alois would stomp in, first thing, and she'll need to have his coffee ready so she gets that started. The floors need to be mopped so they're dry before opening and the tables wiped down too. The salt and pepper shakers need refilling and so do the napkin dispensers. 

In twenty minutes, Hanneman would swagger in and park his weird old ass in his booth in the back corner, shooing off whatever poor customer had unknowingly taken his seat. As the owner of the diner, no one could really argue with him, and he takes full advantage of that. He won't let Byleth take his order until he reads through the menu (like he hadn't done it the day before or every day for the past seven years) and then the headlines of that morning's paper, which lets Byleth get into the groove of the breakfast rush.

He signals to her once he's ready by reading aloud the most interesting headline, which today is, "Local Punks Smash Memorial Rose Garden with Baseball Bats."

"What'll it be today, Hanneman?" Byleth asks him over the din, a tray of empty plates balanced on one hand and jugs of coffee and fresh squeezed orange juice weighing down the other. She motions with the drinks.

The old man barely spares her a glance over his paper. "Does the orange juice have pulp in it?" 

"It always does," she sighs.

"Then what kind of fool question are you asking me?"

She pours him his coffee. Leaves space for milk. "And for breakfast?"

"Oatmeal," he huffs. "Pancakes and a side of bacon on a separate plate so it doesn't mix with the syrup. Doesn't taste right."

She's familiar with this order. It must mean it's Tuesday. Unless it's the third week of the month, in which case it's Sunday. 

Often she wonders why she bothers taking his order anymore, but once on an unfortunate Wednesday, the old coot threw her a curveball. She had already come out with his waffles with strawberry glaze without asking, and he threw quite the fit. Said he wanted steak and eggs and demanded to know what kind of poor waitress just assumed what her customers wanted? Byleth learned her lesson after that. Hanneman kept her on her toes. He tells her it builds character. She thinks it builds up a tolerance for bullshit, which is something she needs far more than some petty concept like _character_.

"What kind of pie is it today?"

She nods to the chalkboard. She knows he saw it on the way in, but it's the routine they've built up. The simple back and forth. It's clockwork. "Deep dish blueberry bacon."

The old fart finally looks at her only to squint. "I just said sweets and meat don't taste right together."

"Tomorrow's gonna be a melon tart with prosciutto, I've decided. And you can thank Felix for that idea." She bestows upon him her brightest grin, which makes him sigh.

"And where the hell are you going to get prosciutto?"

"You'll give it to me." Just like he gave her the mangoes last week. There's a gleam in her eyes. It's hard to acquire some of these fancy things on minimum wage and in such a small town, but Byleth knows kind old Mr. Essar's good for it, despite how mean he makes himself out to be. "Now do you want pie or not?"

"I'm not sure...."

"If you don't like it, you can fire me."

"If it means I have a chance to get rid of you, I will take a slice."

"Of course you will."

The pie sells fast, and it's gone before the lunch hour rush could even imagine it. Byleth's pies usually do.

For lunch, she makes personal chicken pot pies and mashed potatoes with the leftover spuds from the morning, while Felix flips patties for burgers beside her. Marianne only drops two plates during the rush, which means Byleth could spend less time mopping up her mess and more time in the kitchen. She manages to whip up some more maple cream and pop some blueberry bacon tarts into the oven before heading back onto the floor. 

Between tables, Hanneman reads her the local news. It's never anything exciting, but it passes time.

"My horoscope says that when everything around me is slowly falling apart, faith is the only thing I can rely on. Bah!" Hanneman folds up the paper and smacks his table with it. Points at his favorite waitress with it, following as she weaves along the floor. "You can't just believe things are gonna get done. You have to do them yourself!"

Byleth concurs. 

She stops a second, leaned over a table. The room is spinning around her and her stomach does a small flip. She belches.

He picks up the paper again and flips back to the horoscope. "What about you, Byleth? What's your sign?"

"Virgo--"

"A virgo," the diner owner says at the same time. He already knows. He starts saying something about how relying on others is a good thing. Meaning she shouldn't shut herself away because she'll soon find the help she's seeking… or some bullshit before she gags. A hand clapped over her mouth, she makes a break for the bathroom.

"Byleth?" Annette slams her serving tray of orders back onto the kitchen window to follow. "Byleth, are you okay?"

"Uh? Hello?" Felix gestures at the table waiting for their cheeseburgers that he so graciously _slaved over_. "Come get this food."

"Come get it yourself!" exclaims Annette as she races after Marianne into the toilet.

"Are all of your bladders connected or someth-- aaand they're gone."

While their bladders aren't connected, Byleth, Marianne, and Annette have the kind of relationship where while one of them has her head in the toilet, another rubs her back and the other one holds her hair out of her face. Marianne has her back, and Annette has her hair.

When Byleth finishes, her throat is sour and the taste of the bacon coming back up pretty much kills any craving she has for it.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm--" She heaves, but she's empty. "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine…."

Annette glances at Marianne, a hand around something in her apron pocket, and they both nod in silent understanding.

"Byleth…" says Marianne as she wipes her friend's face with a tissue. "Do you think you're--"

"Don't say it," Byleth snaps. She doesn't want to hear it. She can't face that reality.

"I mean, with the nausea and everything," Annette continues, "we just… we think you should take a test." She takes the dirty napkin from Marianne, pinching it between two fingers, and flushes it with the rest of the mess in the bowl. She places a little plastic wrapped package in Byleth's palm.

She looks at it only long enough to discern what it is before shoving it back. "I don't wanna know!"

"Don't you think you've waited long enough?" Annette asks her, still holding the pregnancy test out to her.

"Yeah, I really think you should…."

Byleth struggles to get to her feet and uses the wall against her back to stand straight. She staggers a little, but she's up in no time.

Annette exits the bathroom and comes back with a glass of water to hand her friend with a sly grin. "C'mon, By. Not knowing isn't gonna change the result. Plus what're the odds?"

Marianne looks up from wringing her hands. "I thought you didn't sleep with Aellis anymore."

Byleth sighs deeply, fiddling with the little white package in her hands. "I know but… he got me drunk, and I do stupid things when I drink… like sleep with my husband."

The other two choke back a giggle. They know this is serious, and Byleth was always one to pretend things were fine. Make jokes even though it was no time or place to. It's a distraction, they know, so they don't focus on how horrible everything is.

"We came home from his parents' wedding anniversary, and I was wearing that stupid red dress."

"Ooh, the real sexy one that sparkles?"

"Yeah." She sighs. She doesn't remember the rest of the night, and thank god for it. It'd probably make her more angry at herself than she already is. "How'd ever I get myself in this mess..?"

"Hey, it's okay." Marianne drapes a gentle arm around Byleth's shoulder. "Drink your water. It's okay."

"Y'know you're really convincing when you're not acting like the world's falling apart." Byleth spares a smile at her, sipping water.

"Because it's not, Byleth. It's really not." Marianne has the kindest hot chocolate-colored eyes, warm and familiar like staying inside and having school cancelled because of snow. It _almost_ makes Byleth believe her.

...Until Annette starts talking again. "You mean you didn't use protection?"

"Oh my god."

" _Annette_ ," Marianne whisper yells at her as if Byleth isn't pressed against her in the stall.

"I'm just saying, you know! You can't just go around without condoms…"

"Why would we have condoms around if we haven't slept together since…" Byleth rolls her eyes and counts back the days… weeks… _years…._ "Since our honeymoon, most like."

"Well, it's also possible that… Aellis has some broken parts?" Marianne offers as a hopeful note.

"... _what?_ "

"You know, like… like his boys don't swim…."

"Marianne, that's not… I don't think--" stammers Annette, a perplexed frown creasing her brow.

"Infertility affects 13 in every hundred men in the country…."

How she knows this off the top of her head, nobody knows.

"Those are not good odds in our favor--"

Byleth throws back her glass of water and shoves the other two out of the stall. If it makes them shut up, she'll do anything. She feels like Annette and Marianne are little cartoon devils and angels on her shoulder. Except both of them are devils.

"Okay! Okay! Whatever! I'll take your test, just… _stop."_

A loud banging on the door shakes the washroom. It's Felix, and he's not happy about having to cook _and_ serve by himself.

"Are you ladies still powdering your noses or are you going to get out here and earn your paycheck?"

"We only make eight an hour anyways." Annette locks the door with a pronounced _click_.

" _Godammit_ ," he hisses, footsteps receding.

"How do I do this?" Byleth asks, tearing the plastic open.

"Uhh--"

Marianne digs her hand into Annette's pocket and pulls out the instructions. "Uh… this is all in Spanish…."

"Just pee on the end and don't stick it up your hoo-ha." Annette grabs the folded paper and rifles through it. "And then we wait… a minute. 

"I'll set a timer."

Byleth comes out when she's finished and places the pregnancy test by the sink.

"C'mon, By, it'll be ok." Annette pulls the both of them into her arms, squeezing herself in between. She may be small, but she is mighty and she gives the best hugs.

Byleth wants to believe her. Wants to know that things are gonna turn out okay and maybe she won't have to have a stupid baby or… get rid of a stupid baby but… Even if she weren't pregnant… she'd still have to come home to Aellis. He'd swing around to the front of the diner in his beat up, shitty '78 Mustang, 4:45 sharp, and she'd have no choice but to climb in. He'd ask for a kiss, and she'd plant one on his grimy, sweaty cheek, smelling like cheap beer and the sun. He'd ask her how much she made in tips, and she'd tell him. He'd demand it from her-- calmly, but on the precipice of a threat, one hand outstretched over the center console, eyes on the road home, and she'd fork it over.

It's clockwork. 

Pregnant or not, she knows… it's not as cracked up as Annette or Marianne makes it out to be.

She wishes she could get away from it all. Start anew. But she has no money, because Aellis took that from her. She has no car, because Aellis took that too. She has no aspirations or hope, because… well, he took that from her too.

The ring of the timer shakes Byleth from her thoughts. It had been a very long minute.

Her heart leaps into her throat. She's not much for prayer, but she catches herself thinking, _Lord,_ **_please_ ** _._

She looks to Annette. To Marianne.

They give her a nod.

"It's alright. It's just…" 

A line. 

Just one line… Just one… _Just one!_

Byleth flips the pregnancy test over.

…

"Shit."


	2. nice to meat you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> doctor steal-your-wife (enters from stage left)

The kitchen is Byleth’s safe haven.

Always has been, always will be.

Her mother always told her when she was little that haven was one letter off from Heaven, so it’s close enough. Byleth knows that they were supposed to be words of comfort-- to make the best out of what she’s got and lemon meringue pie out of lemons, but bitterly, she thinks now that it means beggars can’t be choosers, which usually she wouldn’t mind, but that means she’s stooped to the level of a beggar. 

It’d be some pretty shitty meringue if she only had lemons and no sugar anyways. Or flour. Or cornstarch.

“Order up!” Felix dings the bell and slides two platters of their breakfast special her way.

The noise breaks through her reminiscing, but it’s a welcome distraction.

There’s no such thing as abusive husbands or unwanted pregnancies in the dining room. The dining room only has hungry mouths to feed. There’s tables to wait on, breakfasts to be served, messes to be cleaned up, and tips to be collected. Byleth knows every face here, even if she doesn’t know every name. She knows a headache when she sees one, so she has a bottle of Tylenol handy for those who need it. She knows oncoming tantrums, so she has ice cubes for the babies in highchairs to suck on before they get too fussy. 

Her regulars greet her with a smile and a “How’ve you been?” but they hardly ever get further than that in conversation. Their mouths are too full of delicious food. The newcomers… well, they promise to become regulars after she serves them an incredible meal.

The routine of the job keeps her sane.

It gives her some semblance of control in her life, even though whatever happens is completely out of her hands.

Like this dumb baby.

She shakes the thought from her head.

There are no dumb babies in the diner. Counting back from her in-laws’ anniversary party, Byleth figures she’s no more than three months along. She doesn’t show much, and the apron hides what little does. She’s got one of those pressure point wristbands from CVS on to help control her morning sickness, so none of that gets in the way of her work either. 

Hanneman is reading her the headlines from this morning’s paper. Marianne and Annette are humming to the 80s hits station that’s playing from the radio. All is right. It’s the same as yesterday.

The only thing that has changed is the pie.

The pie of the day is something she likes to call “I Hate My Husband And One Day I’m Gonna Kill Him Pie,” but for simplicity’s sake she has Felix write “Nice to Meat You Pie” on the chalkboard instead. The name makes him scowl but it’s a lot better than her alternatives.

How to make I Hate My Husband And One Day I’m Gonna Kill Him Pie. Preheat oven to 400 degrees Fahrenheit. Beat four eggs senseless, cook, and set aside. Tenderize about 8 ounces of beef by beating the living hell out of that too, and when he’s limp and lifeless, mince into tiny pieces until unrecognizable. Douse that son of a bitch (lightly) with a tablespoon of olive oil and a dash of salt and preferred spices. Sprinkle into pie and bury with diced carrots, potatoes, onions, peas, and scrambled eggs so no one would ever find him. Lay crust over it, packing it all up, like your essential belongings in a rollaway suitcase, shove it into the oven, and just run. Run as far as you can.

“Check, please!”

Byleth can’t run from this, and she knows it.

So she slices up the pie and serves it up with a smile. People could never taste her little secret like this. They tell her it’s delicious, and she delights in that. The worries she’d plated were all gone, and whatever crumbs that were left she could scrub away in the sink and let the garbage disposal take care of it.

It’s Friday, which means Aellis has poker night with the boys and won’t be home until later. It doesn’t give her much freedom; it only means that she had to take the bus home instead of having to sit in the car with him at 4:30 sharp, but she’ll take what she can get.

Beggars can’t be choosers.

“Byleth.” Hanneman waves her over from his booth in the corner. 

The waitress checks her watch. If he doesn’t go home soon, he’s going to miss his E.R. reruns. “Yes, Hanneman?”

“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

She nearly trips over herself as she tries to shush him. “Don’t say that too loud!”

“Why! It’s not a secret, is it?”

Byleth glances over her shoulder, making sure no one heard him. “It sure is a secret!”

“Why would you need to keep it a secret?” He leans in, one thin eyebrow cocked incriminatingly. “You’re not supposing you’ll… get rid of it, are you?”

The young woman takes a pause, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. It’s obvious she’s thought about it, but she only sighs. “I dunno. I’m gonna go see my doctor later today, and… I’ll figure it out from there.”

“And why don’t you just leave your husband?”

She’s pretty sure he skipped a couple lines of dialogue in between there to get to that, but she knows he knows the reason why she doesn’t want this dumb baby is because of him. She doesn’t want to bring a child into a house with Aellis in it. It was too cruel.

“You know I can’t, Hanneman.” Before he can add anything else to the conversation, Byleth straightens herself out and wipes her hands on her apron. “You’re gonna miss your reruns.”

“I’m telling you, Ms. Eisner!” He calls after her.

“I know!”

\---

Byleth sits in the waiting room, feeling a little bitter about everything. She feels bitter about how much shit Felix gave her for leaving early for her appointment. She feels bitter about all of these happy pregnant women around her, each one in some odd coincidence flipping through “What To Expect When You’re Expecting.” 

“Did the office give those books out for free with the first check-up?” She mumbles to herself under her breath.

And she feels bitter about the weight in her purse.

She loves Marianne and Annette to death, but sometimes they could be a tad insensitive.

Before Byleth departed from the dinky little diner, they pulled her to the side and thrust a cute little gift bag into her hands. It was striped pastel pink and baby blue. There was a card inside, and it had glitter-- the kind that after you finally got it off your hands, you’d still find it in random places around the house. “Congratulations!” it read.

“Girls, what is thi--”

“Sh! It’s just a little something Marianne and I got for you.”

  
  
“We found it in a boutique on the way to work, and we thought it was just perfect for you.”

Besides the letter, there was a book. The cover read “Dear Baby…” Byleth gave the pages a cursory flip. It was more of a journal than a book, because it was mostly empty save for little clip art designs around the edges. There are prompts on each page: “I am feeling ___ today” and “Baby is the length of an eggplant!” or “Baby weighs as much as a head of lettuce!” For some reason, fetuses are always compared to fruits and vegetables. Byleth wishes she has a head of lettuce inside her instead of this stupid baby.

Byleth frowned. “What is this?”

“Oh, don’t you get it?” Annette took the book from her and thumbed through it. “Look, every week it tells you how big your baby should be, what symptoms you should expect and everything--”

“And you write letters to the baby,” butted in Marianne excitedly. 

“Why would I want to write letters to the baby?”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

She had a million reasons why she didn’t want to write a single damn letter to this precious little parasite but before she could start listing them Felix cleared his throat at them. They had tables to wait.

“Oh good. The ladies have formed a book club,” he said, shoving a tray of hot food into Annette’s arms.

“We’d extend the invitation to you, Felix,” snapped Annette as she snatched the tray away from him, “but you’d need to know how to read first.”

“Shut up,” he snarled.

“Make me!”

Byleth and Marianne glanced at each other with wide eyes. Did they just…  _ shut up _ and  _ make me? _

“Oh, but… just good luck on your appointment, okay?” Marianne kissed Byleth on the cheek and sent her off. 

She had no idea why she would need good luck for a doctor’s appointment.

Everyone seemed so damn happy about this stupid baby. Why didn’t anyone else see Byleth’s world was crashing down around her?

"Miss Eisner?" One of the nurses pulls her back to the present by pronouncing her name wrong. She says it with a long E sound, instead of a long I.

"Uhm… It's Eisner," she says as she stands. Eyes-ner. Not Eez-ner. Sounds stupid that way. 

She refuses to take her husband's name. Her name is the last thing that truly belongs to herself, so she'd appreciate it if she'd get it right. 

The nurse's nametag reads, "Casagrande." Byleth thinks-- a little snidely-- that she'd probably pronounce that name right on the first try. 

Nurse Casagrande pulls her into a room and takes her vitals, weight and height, asks her about any pre-existing medical conditions and prescriptions she's taking, and hands her a paper gown. "Go ahead and strip to your underwear and put this on. The doctor'll be here in a minute."

"Thanks…" She feels awkward. This isn't part of her routine. Usually she'd be sitting at her bus stop by now, letting a few buses pass by until it got dark. Anyways, she does as she's told, and folds her uniform before setting it on the examination table… bed thing. It's been a while since she's seen a doctor. The last time she had gone, they asked her about her bruises, and Byleth thought it was best not to call attention to herself like that. She hasn’t been back since.

In addition to the stupid book in her purse, Byleth is carrying around a pie. It's an old recipe that she came up with when she was around seven years old or so. Marshmallow Dream Pie. It's a chocolate cream pie, reminiscent of spiced hot chocolate, with a generous helping of whipped cream, a sprinkle of cinnamon, and, of course, marshmallows. The doctor she's planning on seeing is the same one who delivered her, 29 years ago. She was a close family friend, who loved Byleth's mother like a daughter, but… then her mother passed away. Byleth hadn't seen her since the funeral. 

Still, there's no better way to pick up where you left off with a delicious treat.

Byleth is in the middle of rethinking the recipe-- using white chocolate instead… No, that won't do. It might come out too rich. What if she made it a cream cheese base…?

She's in the middle of reimagining the pie for a new one she can serve tomorrow at the shop when a knock comes on the door. 

"Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon--"

Byleth catches herself. The person that walked in was definitely not the old lady who delivered her 29 years ago. He's tall, with broad shoulders and green hair pulled into a small ponytail at the nape of his neck. His jawline is strong and he has an elegant nose.

And his eyes… are so  _ green. _

Byleth shakes her head. She crosses her arms over her midsection, feeling a little bare in the paper dressing gown and socks. "You're not my doctor."

"Oh. Uh." He looks a bit confused and glances over his shoulder. There is no other doctor here but himself.

"Where's Dr. Siph?" 

"Dr. Siph? She retired a couple months ago."

"She couldn't have," stammers Byleth. "She's the one that delivered me."

"Well…" The man pauses. For a second it appears he wants to say something  _ smart _ but decides against it. "I'm the one in charge of this office now. My name's Seteth-- er. Dr. Nathair."

"Nice to meet you, Dr. Nathair, but I…" She takes his hand when he extends it to her. His grip is warm and firm. "I was really hoping to see Dr. Siph."

"Sorry to hear that."

Byleth pulls her hand from his finally.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to--" He shoves his hands way down low into his white coat's pockets. "Uhm. Well, if you wouldn't mind having me, I would love to take care of you--"

She cocks a brow at him.

"As a physician."

Byleth cracks a smile at him. He seems distracted as he keeps looking her up and down. It seems she has no choice, if Dr. Siph retired. Though she thinks it’s a little weird for a guy to be an OBGYN.

"So, what seems to be the problem?"

"I appear to be pregnant."

"Oh, well, congratulations!"

"I-I don't really want the baby."

The doctor tilts his head owlishly as if he didn't hear her correctly. "We… We don't do abortions at this clinic."

“Oh. Oh no, I’m keeping it.”

Byleth surprised herself as she said it. Keeping it? Why the hell would she want to keep it?

Then again, her plan to get out of the city and scrounge up the money and courage to get an abortion was never going to work in the first place.

“Okay then.” Seteth is trying his best to keep up with her train of thought, but failing. He seems as lost as she is. “Well, if you would lie down, I’d like to examine you.”

An electric shock dances across Byleth’s skin, and goosebumps rise in its wake. She rubs her arms and lays herself down. Her experience with touches from men haven’t exactly been… the best. And here she is, trusting a man she just met who’s claiming to be her doctor. For all she knows, he could just be some freak in a labcoat--

_ God, I’m turning into Marianne, _ Byleth thinks to herself.

She turns her head towards the wall and closes her eyes.

She needs a distraction.

She wants to think of pie, but she can’t. She’s stuck on the white chocolate recipe from earlier, and it feels heavy and sticky on her tongue. It doesn’t mesh well with the whipped cream, and the marshmallows add an unwelcome extra texture to the mix that it simply does not need.

Byleth remembers the book in her bag.

‘Dear baby,’ she writes in her mind. ‘I really don’t want you, but I guess I have to have you, so let’s make the best of this. I have no idea how Aellis is going to take it. Aellis is your dad. He’s a piece of shit. Though I guess I can’t really say that to a baby. I have no idea how you and I are going to make it out of this unscathed. But we’re gonna try. This doctor is really hot.’

Scratch that last sentence.

Forget she ever wrote any of that.

Dr. Nathair’s hands are large and warm against her body and, above all else, they’re gentle. 

He asks her questions as he pokes and prods her with a stethoscope, and Byleth tries her best to answer them. Nausea? Yes. Weird cravings and slash or food aversions? Yes. Sexually active? Well, she wouldn’t say  _ active _ . 

She only replies, “On special occasions.”

The doctor places a hand under her back and returns her to a sitting position. Their faces are so much closer this way, almost nose to nose. Good  _ God _ his eyes are green. 

Byleth is the first to look away. She pulls the paper gown tighter around herself. Despite being naked underneath it, she’s warm. “So…”

It takes Seteth a little longer to snap out of it, and when he does, he pretends to flip through his clipboard full of charts. “Well, it looks to me like you’re perfectly healthy.”

“O-okay..? That’s all?”

“You’re about three months along, almost about the end of your first trimester. Your symptoms are nothing out of the ordinary. I don’t really have much else to base an opinion on, but for all intents and purposes you seem to be in top shape.” 

He tucks the clipboard under his arm and turns to a cabinet. He pulls out a couple pamphlets and shuffles through them, handing her each one he thinks she might want or need.

“Is this your first pregnancy, Mrs. Eisner?”

Well, at least he pronounced it correctly. “It’s just Miss… And yes. It is.” Hopefully it’s her last too.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I assumed because…” Seteth motions to her left hand. 

Byleth follows his gesture and glances down at her wedding band. It’s dull and scratched, and it reminds her that she  _ belongs _ to someone. Like a collar and chain. “Oh.”

Out of curiosity, she looks at her doctor’s hand and berates herself for feeling disappointed when she discovers he’s wearing one of his own. 

“Just Ms. Eisner’s fine. Byleth is fine too.”

“Lovely name.”

His smile makes her stomach flutter. Just a little.

She feels guilty about it, but no one’s around to stop her from thinking that for all his awkwardness, he’s quite charming.

“Anyways,” Seteth says as he continues to hand her pamphlets, “this is a list of foods you should avoid while pregnant. This one has several different resources for adoption centers and--”

“I said I’m gonna keep it, didn’t I?”

“Right, but… if you don’t mind my saying it, you don’t seem too happy about it.”

“Well, I do mind your saying it.”

“I apologize.” He took that pamphlet back from her and placed it back into the drawer. He hands her a couple more, and she doesn’t look at them. She recalls a garbage can by the bus stop earlier, so she’ll get rid of them there on the way home. “Would you like to get dressed before we discuss your options moving forward or is this alright?”

“Options?”

“Future appointments, other doctors. Things like that. I can tell you’re… uncomfortable with me.”

“N-no, it’s not that.” Well, she was a tad uncomfortable with him, for a number of reasons. “I… I just…” Byleth fumbles with her words for a moment. She can’t find something to say fast enough.

“It’s not professional to be offended. You have every right to want the best for your healthcase.” Seteth shakes his head and takes a seat across from her. He pulls out a sticky note and begins writing down names and phone numbers in a neat scrawl. 

Damn, even his handwriting is endearing.

“You’d have to go out of town to meet with these other physicians, but I highly recommend them.”

“Oh, I can’t go out of town…” Byleth murmurs before she can stop herself. Aellis kept her on a very short leash. “Where are you from, Dr. Nathair?”

“Where am I from?” He stops writing to look at her with his beautiful green eyes.

“Yes, you,” she chuckles. She’s never seen him stop by the diner, not even once. She would remember someone this handsome.

“I’m from up north. My wife is doing her residency here and my daughter’s clinicals are here too so… I had to follow.”

Oh.

A wife  _ and _ a daughter. 

Byleth searches his face. He doesn’t look that old. She should probably stop staring before she finds more things about him that she likes.

“Well, I don’t have a lot of options so… I’m in your hands, doctor.” She offers him a smile, and he in turn simply lights up like a Christmas tree.

“Well, that’s wonderful. So for your next appointment, I’d like to see you again… next month? If that works for you.”

“Next month works perfectly fine for me. Oh.” At that moment, Byleth remembers the pie that’s waiting in her purse beside her, so she carefully slides it out. “It’s probably a little smooshed, but I brought pie from my shop. It was meant for Dr. Siph, but I suppose you can have it.”

“Oh, I can’t have sweets.”   
  
Byleth stares him down with wide eyes.

“I cut sugar out of my diet. It’s tough, but I’ll live longer for it.”   
  


Byleth chuckles and pushes it towards him anyways. “Things that make you live to be a hundred usually make you not  _ want _ to live to be a hundred.” 

“That… just may be true.” He holds the box gingerly, almost like it’s going to jump up and bite him.

“Give it to your staff then. I’m sure Nurse Casagrande would appreciate it.”

“I will do just that.”

Seteth gives her another one of his winning smiles as well a business card to go along with the stack of leaflets. Byleth knows she’ll toss the brochures, but the card might come in handy.

“Do you have any questions or concerns for me?”

She shakes her head and holds her hand out for a shake, if only just to touch him again. “I’ll see you next month.”

“Or if you have any questions or concerns.”

Her hand fits perfectly in his.


	3. plum out of luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a potential suitor knocks at marianne's door, and aellis almost knocks down the diner's.
> 
> cw for domestic abuse

"Oh! _OHH!"_

Annette began to make such a fuss all of a sudden that Byleth thought she had seriously hurt herself. Their patrons take notice as well, their heads lifting from their tables to watch the little ginger waitress as she fans herself in excitement, racing towards the kitchen with her phone in hand.

“Marianne!” She cries. “Marianne! Look! You’ve got a match!”

“A match?” Marianne stares at her as if she had grown a second head.

Byleth joins in the kitchen as well, which makes their grumpy cook furrow his brow. The space isn’t meant for four people at the same time-- especially when three of those people are meant to be out doing their jobs on the dining room floor. They’re all so squished Felix hardly has room to complain.

“Oh. You mean from Tinder?” asks Byleth, craning her neck to see the screen. 

A few months ago, Byleth and Annette decided to make Marianne a Tinder account. They figured if she wouldn’t put her lovely self out there, they would. After all, they knew all of her best qualities-- the ones that men look for when swiping left or right. True, she didn’t have many charm points and they could only find one really good picture to use on her profile and her bio didn’t read much besides her name and age…. 

She was a tricky one.

There wasn’t much they could scrounge up to make her seem interesting, and being in the middle of butt fuck Egypt narrowed down the dating pool immensely, so she had yet to find a single match.

Until today.

Byleth snorts behind her hand. They’re tapping through the pictures on the profile that Marianne matched with. “What in the _hell_ is that haircut?” 

Annette can't help but giggle at that. “It’s… It’s lopsided….”

“Well, the only way to discern if a man with long hair is handsome or not is to look at his shoes--”

“ _Byleth!_ ” Annette gasps before she continues to laugh.

“Oh, girls, please don’t,” Marianne mumbles, clearly embarrassed. Felix fixes her a tray to serve and she’s happy for the chance to leave the room.

The two follow her out.

“Marianne!” chides Annette. “Don’t you think it’s time you… I dunno! Saw _someone_ ? _Anyone?”_ She tails her around the floor as Marianne busies herself with anything she could find. She begins wiping down empty tables first. It’s pretty slow even for a Wednesday and nearing closing time, so there’s an abundance of those.

Marianne Edmund. Twenty-four years old. Bird documentary enthusiast and a hopeless virgin. (Her Tinder profile only lists her age and one of those two things.) She tends to be _real_ self-deprecating when she’s upset. She could find ways to blame herself if it started _raining_. She is the last of the three of them to find a husband which, in Annette and Byleth’s eyes, is a downright shame because she is sweet as a peach and real fun to be around once you get to know her.

“Look, his name is… Lorenz?” Annette reads off his profile. “He… is 27 years old and a public service worker-- oh, very nice. Graduated with a degree in political science. Oh, he likes poetry! Don’t you like poetry, Marianne?”

“Wh-who doesn’t?” She scrubs a table a little more furiously, putting a lot more elbow into it.

"AND! He's only fifteen miles away!"

Marianne moves on to another table. “Oh, this dispenser needs more napkins--” She moves with the others close behind. Back in the kitchen again, Felix really looks like he’s going to lose his temper, but Marianne makes quick work gathering what she needs and flees again.

“Look, we’ll just… Give him a like back and message him--"

"Oh no! Please don't!" The poor girl makes to take the phone from Annette, who holds her away with surprising strength with one hand and texts with the other.

"Hey comma Lorenz… Smiley face." She reads aloud as she types, struggling as Marianne pushes against her. "Saw you're in the area and… Marianne, please stop shoving me! ...was wondering if you'd like to grab a bite to eat? Send!"

"Ohh!" Marianne rushed off to bury herself in her work refilling the napkin dispensers.

Byleth takes a seat at the table Marianne's working on. "What's the worst that could happen, Marianne?"

A second later Annette gasps. "He responded!"

Marianne groans. "That."

Annette reads the message aloud, “'It would be an honor to have dinner with you. What is the earliest I shall have the pleasure?' Ooh, he sounds fancy. How about tomorrow night?"

"Tomorrow there's a special about dodos on the History channel at seven…." 

"You can record it!"

"No, Annette, please don't," Marianne protests weakly and Annette sends out a reply. 

"Tomorrow it is! At six," the little redhead announces with an air of finality to it. "So if you don't drag your feet and just get there on time, you'll make it for your dodo documentary if you bail.”

“Well played,” Marianne mumbles, slumping next to Byleth, who puts a reassuring arm around her shoulders.

“It’s not the end of the world,” she tells her. “Going on a date for once isn’t gonna be that bad.”

Annette squeezes into the booth, making a Marianne sandwich. “Yeah, I mean, you could be us.”

“Oh, thank you very much, Annette.”

They all know she’s referring to her and Byleth’s miserable married lives. Byleth has Aellis, and they all knew how that's going, and while Annette loves her husband very dearly, an accident a few years prior left him paralyzed from the neck down. She didn’t mind changing his diapers and basically tending to his every need, but hiring a live-in caregiver and renting the equipment just to keep him alive was sometimes a little too much for a small town waitress’ paycheck, no matter how hard she worked. Annette is too young to look so tired.

"Okay, why don't we make a list then?" Annette offers and pulls out her pen. She begins to scribble on a paper placemat before them. _'The Worst Things That Could Possibly Go Wrong on Marianne's Date._ ' She labels spots for the top five.

They all pause in thought for a minute.

Marianne goes first. "I could run him over with my car on the way in."

"...yeah, I guess that'd be pretty high up." But it's implausible so she doesn't write it down.

"You could puke on his shoes. Or shirt."

"That sounds like a you problem, By-- Have a wonderful day, sir!"

The three of them nod and smile as their last customer of the day heads out.

"Felix, can you flip the sign to 'closed' and lock the door, please? It's four already," Byleth asks.

"Flip it your damn self," comes the response from the kitchen. "Being pregnant doesn't affect your legs. You can get up and do it. I see you just sitting there anyways."

Annette stands and watches their cook through the kitchen window. She hits the table with her palms to get his attention. "Felix, please! We're busy!"

Only then does Felix stroll out. He flips the sign over and locks the door with an overexaggerated gesture. His eyes are squinted and locked right on Annette's the whole time.

"Happy?" He snaps.

"That wasn't so hard," she huffs and sits back down.

The other two waitresses watch with wide, unbelieving eyes. _What_ has gotten into these two?

“So. Running over your date.” Annette sits back down, leaving her friends no room to speculate. “And puking all over him. Good contenders. Anything else?”

Byleth is still stuck on whatever their chef and her best friend have got going on between them, but she says nothing on that. “You could… leave your wallet at home and accidentally force him to have to pay the bill.”

Annette sucks in through her teeth. “That’s pretty bad.”

“He could…” Marianne starts to say, her voice tiny. “He could just… not like me.”

And that was why Marianne never put herself out there. It spared herself the heartbreak. You miss every shot you don’t take, but you also can’t strike out if you don’t play the game. 

Byleth’s face falls as she brings her in for a hug. “Oh, Marianne… Why would he not like you?”

“Right!” Annette crumples the paper placemat and shoves it into her apron pouch. That is obviously the worst one of them all. “You’re super pretty and you know a lot of cool stuff and you’re super duper tough!”

“I dunno about that… I’m not the type of girl that people look at twice, and I mumble when I’m anxious and--”

Annette cuts her off. “Listen. He’s gonna love you, and you know why?”

“Wh-why?”

“Because! Tomorrow, before your date I’m gonna make you look super duper pretty! Even more pretty than you are already! I’ll put makeup on you and I’ll fix your hair and…” Annette reaches over the table and grabs Byleth’s hand. “And Byleth’ll bake you a pie. Right, Byleth?”

“Sure.”

“If you can’t win him over with your looks--”

“Which you will,” adds Byleth.

“--then you’ll definitely win him over with some of her pie.” Annette slides out of the booth, pulling Marianne with her, who in turn pulls along Byleth, and Annette gathers them all in for one of her award-winning hugs.

“I’m so lucky to have you girls,” Marianne says.

“And I am so lucky to have some goddamn help closing up this fucking shithole,” yells Felix from the kitchen with a clatter of dishes being washed for emphasis.

The three of them collectively roll their eyes but get to wiping down the tables Marianne had yet to get to before they could put the chairs up and mop. They all giggle and talk as they work, shouting from different corners and sides of the diner.

“What kind of pie are you planning to make? For Marianne’s date, I mean.”

Byleth thinks about it as she starts counting out their tips for the day on the counter. “I was thinking… a plum pie.”

“Ooh!” Annette wriggles a brow at Byleth. “Crafty. I like it.”

Marianne mutters to herself about the implications of that statement, pink dusting her pale cheeks. “Oh, goodness.”

Plums are an aphrodisiac. 

Byleth works diligently as she throws all sorts of flavors together in her head. Plums and chocolate? Two good things by themselves, but it’s missing something to tie them together. Plums and hazelnuts are good too, and she wonders about a plum and Nutella tart. It’s a little too experimental, even for her, and Marianne’s love life is not worth her slaking her curiosity. Plums and pears? The idea of a plum and pear crumble teases her. She could make the crumble from cinnamon and oatmeal, with fine-sliced almonds and hazelnut….

The front door rattles. Someone is pounding on it from the other side.

“We’re closed--”

It’s Aellis.

Byleth glances at her watch. It’s not yet 4:30. She’s just finished counting the tips, and shoves her share into her pocket as she goes to open the door. Her husband staggers in, smelling like he fell into a vat at the local brewery. 

She stammers, “A-Aellis, you’re early.”

“Got fired,” he burps.

“ _Fired?_ ” She echoes incredulously. 

“You didn’t wake me up early enough this morning and the big bad boss man said that was one too many times to be late. So!” He drew his thumb over his neck.

“Have you been drinking?” She asks, leaning back just slightly as he leans in. 

“Had to pass the time _somehow_ waiting for you to get off work.” Aellis wraps an arm around her shoulder and pulls her close. “But that’s ok! Right? That just means we get to spend a whole lot more time together, riiiight?”

“R-right,” she chokes out. His breath smells flammable. His touch feels like fire. She wants to be angry. She wants to slap him and scream at him and call the cops to get her the hell out of there, but she’s too scared to do anything except stand her ground.

Byleth sees Annette and Marianne keep their distance, eyes narrowed into a fierce expression of contempt. Annette attempts to step forward, but Marianne holds her back. Byleth is grateful, because she knows that their intervention would only make things worse. Even Felix wouldn’t put her in danger like that.

“Let’s go home?” Her husband asks her-- and it’s not a request. It’s a command.

She somehow manages a nod. “Lemme just get my coat.” She wrestles herself out of his grip and slips back into the kitchen. The girls follow.

“Byleth, you can’t,” Marianne begs her.

Annette takes Byleth’s hand and squeezes. “Please. Look, you can leave through the back door and we’ll help you just… Don’t go.”

“I have to,” she mumbles.

“Why?” They demand to know.

“I just do.” She puts on a brave face for them, smiling a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, tosses her coat on, and begins to walk out. “It’ll be okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Aellis climbs behind the wheel of his Mustang. Byleth hates his car. It’s ugly as sin.

She hesitates outside the passenger side door. “You’re driving? You just told me you’ve been drinking.”

“And I’m doing a damn good job. Now get the hell in here.”

Byleth’s stomach clenches with nausea and fear, but her legs move on their own and she obeys. 

The road home isn’t a particularly long one, but the minutes in such a small space with her husband tick by agonizingly slow. 

“Where’s my kiss?” He asks her. 

Byleth leans over the center console and swipes her lips across his cheek.

“No, gimme a real one,” he insists. She’s lucky he only thinks she’s joking.

Byleth closes her eyes and tries again, and thankfully he’s satisfied.

“How was your day?”

“It was fine.” Byleth knows he couldn’t give less of a shit of how her day went, but it’s his easiest transition into what he asks next.

“How much did you make today?”

Byleth produces the handful of bills and change she’d stuffed into her pocket. “About fifty five fifty.” 

“A bit slow today, don’t you think?”

She looks at his hand. It’s held out over the center console, palm up. 

“Aellis, since you’re out of a job,” she dares to say, “I think--”  
  
“I’m the man of the house. I handle the finances.” He cut her off. “Now you better not continue saying any of the shit I think you’re trying to say. Whose fault is it that I was fired in the first place? Who didn’t try harder to wake me up in the morning? Hm? Tell me.” 

“Me,” Byleth murmurs and the word nearly chokes her. Her eyes are trained straight ahead on the road. They’re swerving a little. She prays he crashes the car and hopes for a quick death.

“I can’t hear you.”

She replies louder. “It’s my fault.”

“That’s right. I’m the one that puts food on the table, and _I’m_ the one who keeps a roof over your head. _I’m_ the one who took you in after your mom died, when _no one else_ would.”

Byleth pinches her arm to keep herself from rolling her eyes.

“And I do some real proud work, okay? Construction’s no joke. It takes a lot of skill. You? You’re a goddamn waitress. What do you know about taking care of money? What do you know about budgeting and numbers? I work with that shit every day of my life, and here you are, thinking maybe you should take care of it? You? A fucking pie baker?” Aellis sounds like he’s about to lose his patience. Like he’s about to start counting from three to one and by the time he reaches one he better have all fifty-five dollars and fifty something cents in his hand.

Byleth forks it over, and she’s silent for the rest of the ride.

\---

At home, Byleth sits by herself on the couch while Aellis takes a shower. 

She counts to ten. As long as she doesn’t piss her husband off, she’ll survive to see tomorrow. Still… With her being the only source of income for god knows how long… She counts to ten again. She has a stupid baby on the way too. Counting to ten isn’t working. 

Her hands still tremble.

She counts to twenty.

She knows she can’t upset her husband any further-- well, she can, somehow, but she shouldn’t. If Aellis hits her, Dr. Nathair will take notice and ask too many questions and Byleth would never be able to see him again.

Why is she thinking about Dr. Nathair? She doesn’t even have another appointment any time soon. Byleth shakes her head and restarts her count. 

One, two, three, four, five, six, Seteth….

Dr. Nathair would know how to take care of her. He’d tell her all his professional doctor-y secrets on how to stop a nose from bleeding for too long or how to keep lumps from forming on her head. His hands would be gentle on her skin as he tended to her cuts and scrapes. He’d take care of her. He’d protect her. He’d treat her right.

Byleth knows she’s just imagining, but the image of his green, _green_ eyes keeps her calm.

He probably has some stupid pamphlet for domestic abuse in his drawer full of stupid pamphlets. 

Byleth holds back a giggle.

“Something funny?” comes Aellis’ voice from behind her, and she jumps in her seat.

_Just when she’d finally stopped shaking._

“Oh, uhm… I just… Thought about something from earlier,” she lies.

He falls full-bodied onto the cushion beside her. He no longer smells like alcohol, but he’s still way too drunk for Byleth’s comfort. “I’m sorry I yelled at you earlier, baby. I didn’t mean to get so mad….” 

Aellis leans in and Byleth ducks under his arms and heads for the kitchen. “I need to get dinner ready. A-are you hungry?”

“Hey, I’m trying to apologize.” He follows her and attempts again to cage her in his arms, but she narrowly escapes by stooping over and pretending to look for leftovers in the freezer. 

“Look, we have some chicken pot pie from a few days ago. You love my chicken pot pie.” Byleth straightens herself out, which is a mistake, because Aellis grabs her left arm so tight she gasps.

“Will you fucking _listen to me_ when I’m talking to you?” He growls.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpers.

“I _hate_ it when you don’t listen to me!” Aellis grabs her other arm and holds her _tight_.

“I’m sorry!” She yelps again. Her back is against the fridge and her husband is pressed right up against her front, so she’s stuck, cowering with her eyes wide. So much for not pissing him off.

“Here I am, trying to be the better person and _apologize_ and you fucking--!” His fingers clench so hard around her biceps she cries out.

“I’m pregnant!” She shrieks and grits her teeth. Embraces for impact. The words are out of her mouth before she knows it.

Aellis’ grip lessens significantly. “You’re pregnant?”

“Y-yeah…” Byleth refuses to lower her guard. She doesn’t know if this dumb baby is actually going to protect her from getting beaten, but it’s worth a try.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I-I just… I know that… You’ve been stressed about work and money and I just… I didn’t want to add onto that.”

Her husband starts to tug her along, and she flinches. 

“Hey, no… Hey, I’m just trying to get you over there to sit. You… You’ll need lots of rest from now on for the baby.” 

Byleth forces her eyes to open. He looks just as confused as she is. The drastic swings in his mood throw her for a loop, but at least he’s not going to hit her anymore. She doesn’t resist as he guides her back to the couch. She can’t resist. She _shouldn’t_ resist.

“Y’know, no wonder!” He exclaims, pacing back and forth around the living room. “You’ve been throwing up a lot, you’re tired, you’re cranky, your boobs have gotten bigger....”

Byleth ignores his last remark about her chest and discreetly rubs her arms.

“I’m gonna be a father?” He mumbles, more to himself than anything, and then, louder, he says, ‘I’m gonna be a father!”

He pauses, and Byleth is scared that once he processes the meaning of his words, he’ll pick up right where he left off and no amount of foundation or concealer would hide just how he felt about it.

Aellis wasn’t always this bad. 

She recalls when she first met him, all those years back in high school. He was some… bad boy with slicked back hair and a guitar, several truancy letters home, and a line of broken hearts about the length of a football field. Handsome and bold. Byleth, with her tea-length skirt and 4.2 GPA, looked at Aellis, and Aellis, with his fresh new license and shiny leather jacket, looked at Byleth… And they fell in love.

He wrote her love songs, and she baked him pies. She told him he’d be a superstar one day, and he told her she was going to open up a whole chain of restaurants. She told him she’d love him forever, and he told her the same. None of those things happened.

They say the things you fall in love with in a person are usually the same things that make you fall out of love. His cool lack of respect for authority meant bailing him out of jail three times. His cute overprotectiveness over her became jealousy and obsession. The romantic line he sang-- “I’ll die without you”-- became a _threat_.

Aellis hoots again, and he sounds more than elated. “I’m gonna be a father!” 

Byleth lets out a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

He presses a wet kiss against Byleth’s temple. “This calls for a drink!” 

As he sways back into the kitchen again, Byleth prays her arms don’t bruise, and starts counting down from a thousand.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really struggled writing the scenes with aellis and byleth. abuse is no joke and abusers deserve to go to the deepest level of hell. just wanted to close this one out by saying i am in no way condoning or romanticizing abuse, it's something i've been through myself and if you've gone through/are going through it just know it is never your fault and you do not deserve it and i hope with all my heart you'll get through it. 
> 
> i debated on scrapping this and even watered it down a lot (for my own safety and for the rest of you reading) but... :worried: if you have a problem with this chapter, or have any ideas on how to improve it please let me know and i will gladly change or even delete it at the drop of a hat


	4. everything's rosy apple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sometimes one bite is more than enough to know you want more of a thing you just got a taste of.

The next morning, Aellis is far too hungover to even _think_ about driving Byleth to work. He doesn’t have work himself anymore, so he has even less of an incentive to waste gas. This means Byleth has to wake up even earlier than usual to take the bus and will probably have to take the bus back too but…

It also means less time spent at home. 

Byleth chalks this one up as a win and heads out the door. 

It’s still dark out, and the wind is brisk. She can’t wait for summer. She misses the sun.

'Dear dumb baby,' she writes in her head, 'by the end of June, I will have swelled up to the size of a melon, and I will probably be absolutely miserable because of you.'

According to the journal thing Marianne and Annette gave her, by the time her 8th month rolls around, the baby is supposed to be the size of a fucking napa cabbage. Byleth is supposed to be pissing herself when she sneezes with leg cramps and scary looking varicose veins. She’s going to turn into a major bitch, and everyone is going to call her that behind her back. Acid reflux, irreparable stretch marks, hemorrhoids and headaches and backaches and just _aches in general..._

Whoever first said pregnancy is a beautiful thing, she would like to punch them in the throat.

Suddenly summer doesn’t sound all that appealing.

The end of summer signifies the coming of fall, and the coming of fall signifies the coming of her dumb fall baby.

Byleth counts down from that night after her in-laws' anniversary party and projects she's due sometime in September. Septembers are like the Thursdays of the year. Nothing special happens in September. At least August is the last hoorah of summer, and October has something cool like Halloween. Septembers are just miserable in comparison. School kicks back in and it starts to get colder but the leaves on trees still retain lots of their usual green. It's fall, but not quite fall.

This dumb baby is just going to be… a dumb not quite fall baby.

Byleth stops short on the sidewalk, startled by the sight of someone else at the bus stop so early in the morning. She squints as she approaches, her hand gripping the pepper spray in her purse. She can’t quite make out whose head it is under the low streetlight until they turn and face her way.

She almost jumps in fright, and just barely stops herself before she can draw her weapon.

“...Dr. Nathair?!”

“Miss Eisner.” Seteth greets her politely with a nod, and she feels real silly now.

_Oh god, I almost maced my doctor._

Byleth clears her throat and adjusts the strap of her bag onto her shoulder. She takes a seat next to him, not too close, but not quite on the opposite end of the small bench. She hugs her arms and is grateful for the sweater she has on. If he saw the bruises on her arms, he’d ask too many questions. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Well,” he says, drawing one long leg over the other, “I’m heading home from the hospital. I figured I could squeeze in at least an hour of sleep in my own bed before the clinic opens.” He motions to the sign. “This is my transfer stop.”

“You were at the hospital? This late?”

“Indeed.”

Byleth holds back a snort. No one says “Indeed” anymore except for maybe Hanneman. 

“I just delivered a healthy baby, though, so it makes the job worth it.” He leans forward, with his elbows atop his knees, and glances at Byleth with a weak smile. “Twelve hours of labor, eight pounds, seven ounces, a beautiful boy.”

She knows he’s beyond exhausted, but she still finds him incredibly handsome, even with bags under his eyes. The down angle he’s looking at her from makes her chest squeeze. She blames the hormones.

“ _Twelve_ hours?” Byleth echoes. 

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry. That’s probably not a comforting thing for you to hear.”

Byleth waves her hands in front of her. “No, no. I’m just thinking what a good doctor you must be.”

Seteth gives a small laugh. “Why, thank you.” 

“You must have been there since your clinic closed yesterday! And now you’re gonna have to do it all again?”

The man shrugs. “I wouldn’t trade it for the world.”

A pause. 

“You’re an excellent baker,” he says to keep the conversation going.

For someone so captivated by the color of his eyes, Byleth finds it rather difficult to look him in his.

“Oh?” She turns a teasing grin on him. “Does that mean you tasted my pie?”

“Just a little,” he admits, turning his simper away from her like he had just been caught doing something he shouldn’t have. 

Embarrassment is a good look on him, Byleth thinks. “How was it?” She asks just to stroke her ego.

“It was probably the best thing I’ve tasted in my life,” confesses the poor man, clasping and unclasping his fingers with a shrug.

“Good enough to give up living to a hundred for?”

Seteth chuckles and eventually nods. “Perhaps.”

Byleth laughs too now. No one says “Perhaps” anymore either.

“Definitely good enough to win all sorts of competitions, I’d imagine.” Seteth leans back on the bench and suppresses a yawn. “You know,” he starts to say, “when I was young…”  
  
She cocks a brow at him. His age is showing.

“..er. When I was young- ** _er_** ,” he says in amendment, “there used to be a waitress at the local diner where I grew up. I would spend way too much time there, doing my homework at the counter, and she would always sneak me sweets I couldn’t pay for.”

“She sounds nice,” Byleth says.

“I only bring her up because she reminds me of you.” He pauses and tilts his head this way and that. “Or rather, I suppose I should say you remind me of her.”

Byleth checks her watch and hopes her bus doesn’t come any time soon. She finds herself enjoying his company immensely. 

Seteth straightens out in his seat and crosses his arms over his chest. 

_Goddamn, he’s got nice arms… Oh, my **stupid** hormones. _

“She’s probably around… retirement age now.”

Byleth huffs and crosses her own arms over her chest. “Gee, thanks.”

Seteth’s-- _Dr. Nathair’s_ green green eyes widen. “Oh, no. I apologize. No, I meant that… you and her are similar in that… You’re both very sweet.”

The young woman lets out a laugh. Talking to him is like a breath of fresh air after being trapped in a submarine for months.

“I must say your pie was much better than anything she’d ever made, however.”

“Thank you,” she says again, sincerely this time.

“What did you call it again?”

“Marshmallow Dream Pie,” Byleth tells him with a sheepish giggle. “It was… an old recipe my mom and I came up with when I was young.”

“Young- _er_ ,” he corrects her playfully.

She can only roll her eyes.

“When I tasted your pie, I could tell you’ve been baking for quite some time,” he says. “I could tell that you really put a lot of care into each step. Every flavor just melted into one another and it was just so… coherent, like you were telling a story and it all flowed together effortlessly.”

Byleth felt her ears go hot. He’d just gotten awfully close to understanding her on a whole new level.

“You sound like you ate the whole thing if you were able to come to such a conclusion,” she teases him.

“I would have loved to, but I didn’t.”

Now both of them are blushing.

They sit together on the bench at their bus stop, quiet. Byleth is amazed at how easily she fell into conversation with him, and she’s just as pleased that their silence is just as comfortable. She sees her bus rolling up the street and she gets up. She thinks she can talk to him forever, but it’s not an awkward interruption. It’s the perfect time to end their little chat.

“I’ll see you at our next appointment?” The waitress asks.

Seteth nods and stands with her, just to be polite. “You have my number, so if you have any questions or concerns, you give me a call.”

“I will.” She nods and holds out her hand for him to shake as a departing formality. “You go and get some proper sleep.” Byleth boards her bus and watches his tall silhouette waving at her shrink until it’s just a small dot in the distance. 

She sinks back into her seat when she can no longer see him, cherishing the heat of his hand in hers.

\---

Today’s most interesting headline of the day as per Hanneman’s voice booming through the diner is: “Preparations for State Pie Bake Off to Resume After Funding Secured.”

Byleth hustles her way over to his table, clicking her pen and putting it to her notepad. “What’ll it be today, Hanneman?” It’s Thursday, which means he’ll want eggs easy over, toast, two sausage links, and grits on a separate plate. She’s already writing it down when he clears his throat.

“Did you hear a word I just said?” He asks.

“Two eggs over easy, two slices of whole wheat toast--”

“Will you get your head out of the breakfast rush and actually listen to me?” 

If Byleth weren’t in such a good mood from this morning, she would have actually sighed and rolled her eyes at him. There was a family of tourists at one of her booths who were passing through town and they had children that were _not_ happy about being crammed in the car for so long. A trucker at the counter had sent back his bacon because it wasn’t crispy enough-- _twice_. Felix then proceeded to char it through and through and personally deliver it to the guy, which didn’t make anything better. Their bickering cut above the rest of the noise even now as she’s taking Hanneman’s order.

But she _is_ in a good mood, so instead the young woman only tucks her orderbook into her apron and stands with her arms akimbo. “What is it, Hanneman?”

“That’s much better.” He huffs and his silly neat mustache flutters with the air leaving his nose. The old man pulls a spread out of his newspaper and slides it towards Byleth.

“What’s this?” She holds it up to read and gasps ever so softly. “A pie contest?” 

Her boss continues to flip through the rest of the gazette with a great deal of nonchalance. “Grand prize is twenty grand.”

“ _Twenty grand?_ ” She echoes, incredulously. In disbelief, she looks to her coworkers, who pretend not to be jumping up and down with excitement-- it was like she had already won. Suddenly, she’s suspicious. “What do you want me to do with this information, Hanneman?”

Hanneman shrugs. “I just thought it might interest you. The prize money is enough for… oh, I don’t know. A decent sized apartment’s first and last month’s rent, the safety deposit, and then some, I’d imagine. A car too, perhaps. A divorce lawyer.”

Byleth’s breath catches in her throat. Her skin pricks hotly with excitement, and it burns especially under her short sleeves, where her arms were mottled with fresh, finger-shaped bruises. She never thought escaping her life would be so simple. Winning this contest would be like breathing to her. 

_Easy as pie!_ She giggles to herself. 

The contest is out of state and there’s an entry fee and it’s _right_ before her dumb not quite fall baby’s due date, but Byleth feels invigorated. The cogs are already turning in her head. She’ll start saving up. She can hide a portion of her tips before Aellis can ask for them, in jars and in the couch cushions and between pages of books…. By the time the bake off rolls around, she’ll have enough to rent a car and a hotel room and cover the entry fees--

She does some math in her head. 

She’ll probably have even more than that.

Seteth's words from that morning pop into her head. _Good enough to win all sorts of competitions._

Her heart flutters with excitement and with....

\---

After closing, Byleth is simply gushing in the kitchen by herself.

“And then! I’ll just go! I won’t even tell Aellis. I’ll just pack up my things, and I’ll just fucking go!”

She looks out the kitchen window and rests her arm on the ledge where Felix usually puts their fixed trays, right next to the little silver bell. She catches her distorted reflection in it’s scuffed up curvature, and she’s _beaming._

“You’re awfully optimistic about everything suddenly,” Marianne notes. "Did something good happen?"

Byleth laughs, tucking the memory of her chance meeting with Dr. Nathair away in her pocket to keep for herself. “It’s the hormones. They’re making me crazy, I think. But I really mean it! I’ll just… I’ll save up, and I’ll just go. That pie contest is my one way ticket out of this place.”

Annette is straightening Marianne’s hair out in the dining room. She has her date in a few hours. 

Byleth has ditched the idea of plum and pear pie with an oatmeal crumble. To her it sounds more like a second or third date type of thing and now she’s going with something more classic. Refined. Everybody likes apple pie and Lorenz (according to the million emojis in his profile) likes roses, so Byleth, ever the overachiever, is making her Everything’s Rosy Apple Pie. It’s a delicate looking thing, with thinly sliced apples spread around the crust so that it looks like a rose, delicious and brown with cinnamon and a light caramel drizzle.

“Even if I don’t win--”

“Which you will,” says Annette with her mouth full of bobby pins. 

“--I think I just!” Byleth throws her hands into the air. “I just won’t come back. I’ll buy a shitty used car and live in that if I have to, but I am not coming back here.”

“You don’t have to wait for this pie contest to leave him, By.”

“I don’t have the money for that.”

“You know you’re always welcome at my place,” offers Marianne. “I know my studio’s not much but it’s a lot better than nothing.”

Annette pipes up with, “And I’d say there’s space for you at home with me, but there’s really not…”

“I appreciate it, but you know I can’t or he’ll come after you too. Plus… Y’know, the baby.” She's never taken them up on their offers even after all these years, and she's not going to start now.

With a shake of her head, she ducks back into her little haven before they can argue that they’ll work things out. The apples are done marinating in their cinnamon water, and the crust should be done chilling in the fridge and ready to be filled.

Byleth takes a minute to pause. "Hey, girls?"

"Yeah?"

"Have you ever baked a pie before?"

"Not from scratch like you."

This is true. Byleth hardly ever used things from cans or pre-made ingredients. Even the caramel she's making is coming straight from the cinnamon water she’s soaked the apples in.

"Do you want to?"

Not a second ticks by before Byleth hears her one of her best friends scramble to her feet and race into the kitchen. 

"I DO," Annette exclaims. She left Marianne outside, with her hair only half up into a braid crown. "Marianne does too!"

"I don't wanna mess it up…."

Annette scampers back out and drags her into the kitchen. "This pie is for _your_ date! You gotta fill it with your love and make Mister Lorenz Hellman Gloucester fall head over heels for you!"

"I could really use the help, Marianne," Byleth says, even though she's only saying it to encourage her. They all know she doesn't need help baking a pie of all things.

Eventually she concedes, and Byleth gives them the job of setting the apple slices into rows around the crust to build a flower, while she works on making the caramel. Creating the rose is a tedious and repetitive process, going round and round the pie crust. They all chatter together as they work.

"Don't you think it's such a shame that all the hard work we're putting into this is going to come undone the moment a knife is taken to it?" Marianne asks. Her work is clumsy looking, but Annette is there to fix it right up whenever she makes mistakes.

"Nothing's meant to last forever, and looks don’t always account for taste," Byleth says with a shrug. "I used to worry about that too, but my mom used to say that if I liked how something turned out so much, all I had to do was make it again."

"Your mom taught you how to bake, right?"

"Oh, she taught me _everything._ " Byleth says as she points with her whisk.

She grew up in a one-parent household after her father passed away from an illness when she was too young to remember him. Her mother taught her how to bake and how to read, how to do laundry and fly kites, to close her eyes and cover her ears when her boyfriend came home shit-faced and yelling…

Her mother was the one who taught her why their kitchen door had a lock, and how to make use of it. The two of them spent hours and hours in there, singing songs they made up as they went and inventing tons and tons of recipes. Times were… _simpler_ then, but perhaps not much has changed.

Byleth shakes her head to rid it of these thoughts. “How’s it going on your side?”

“Perfectly!” Annette chirps as Marianne mutters a “Not so good” under her breath.

She lowers the heat on the stove to give their apple rose a look. The caramel sits on a low simmer, so by the time it’s ready it’ll be rich and just a tad bitter, but a perfect complement to the apples’ sweetness. “Really? I think it looks good enough to start baking.” With their beautiful (and only slightly lopsided) pie in the oven, Byleth checks on the time. “Oh, we better get going. Annette, you finish up her hair.”

Byleth sets to work on Marianne’s makeup, and Annette continues to plait her hair as she sits on the small island counter in the middle of the kitchen. The three young women chat and laugh about the contest and what Byleth was going to do with the money as if she already had it in her hands-- apartments she could lease and vacations she could take. They talk about the different recipes she could submit-- the unforgettable ones, the not as incredible ones, new ones she had yet to create. Byleth pulls them all back, reminding them that it’s _Marianne’s_ night, and they giggle and tease her about her man like they’re high schoolers again. Like they’re young again and they have all their dreams intact and things are just beginning for them. 

The timer on the oven dings.

Their Everything’s Rosy Apple Pie is gorgeous and brown and the smell of cinnamon warms the air. Marianne’s hair is neatly around her head in a dainty braid crown, and her lips shimmer with just the tiniest bit of Annette’s favorite cherry tinted lip gloss. Annette gathers her coworkers into her arms for a squeeze.

“Marianne, you are gonna nail your date, and Byleth you are going to win that pie contest--”

“And Annette you are--” Byleth attempts to say something just as cheerful, but Annette cuts her off with a shake of her head.

“Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

Usually those words mean little around here, but something mischievous and bright shines in Annette’s eyes as she says them, so Byleth believes her. She takes the pie, holding the pan with a dish towel to avoid burning herself, and hands it off to Marianne.

“I’d tell you to be careful, but I don’t know a single person on this green Earth more cautious than you.” She puts a finger under her chin and lifts it. “You’re gonna do great.”

Marianne smiles at her-- _really_ smiles at her. “You’re the best.”

Things are looking up for everybody.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this was a tad late. idk if i wanna keep this on a schedule like i did for mania (which just a shameless self plug you can read [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22345489/chapters/53381638)) but it's fun writing it ! i just have a bunch of other projects ive got goin on ! see u next week maybe who knows idk


	5. white knuckle cream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> marianne has a date part 2

The rhythm of the lunch rush finally pauses, and Byleth snatches up the opportunity faster than Felix could say “Order up!”

“Girls, I’m gonna take a five. I need to make a phone call.” 

“I got your tables!” Annette calls from the other side of the diner. 

“Thank you!” Byleth sidles into the kitchen and pointedly ignores Felix’s glare at her. He could be oddly territorial especially when he worked, and she supposes she could understand. He has a rhythm of his own, and it clearly doesn’t match anyone else’s. “I’ll only be five minutes, Felix. Don’t be like that.”

“I’m not being like anything,” he huffs and plates a couple sliders louder than he needs to.

She can’t go outside to make the call. A gang of bikers from upstate are passing through, and they aren’t all that quiet parked out front. Felix will just have to deal.

Byleth worries the corner of the business card Dr. Nathair had given her, pinching it with her thumb and forefinger. He said to give him a call if she ever had any questions or concerns on more than one occasion, and she… well, she has more than one concern, and it isn’t entirely pregnancy related.

After closing up shop last night, Byleth took the bus home, and in her usual seat in the back, she counted through all sixty-something dollars she had in tips, folded the crispest five she had in the stack in half, and stuffed it into her shoe. The rest she put back into her apron pocket. 

What Aellis doesn’t know can’t kill him.

He was waiting for her at the door when she came home. He asked for a kiss, and she gave him one on his cheek. Somehow, even without work he still smelled like sweat. Then he held out his hand and Byleth, on cue, gladly handed it over, announcing the total of sixty-two dollars and seventy-three cents as she pressed it into his palm. The feeling of a single bill under her sock delighted her. It thrilled her, even. It was her little secret. She’d just cheated him out of five whole dollars, and those five whole dollars were hers.

Her husband went back to watching his baseball game, and with his back turned, she went to hide her money between the pages in their Bible. She wasn’t much for religion herself, and Lord knows the last time her bastard spouse read a single thing besides the titles of videos on PornHub. He wouldn’t find it there.

Afterwards Byleth got a pot of pasta going on the stove and gingerly made room for herself on the couch besides Aellis, who laid his head on her lap. He guided her hand onto his head-- a not so subtle hint to play with his hair. She thought this would be the picture of a perfect domestic life if it weren’t for the purple blooms clearly visible on her arms and the catch of her breath in her throat when he touched her. 

She pushed her fingers through his hair and cheered herself on in her head. 

_Just until September. Wait until September, and you’ll be out of here._

“Baby?”

She jumped just a little at his voice. “Yes?”

Aellis turned away from the TV so that he was looking straight up at his wife. “Tell me something.”

She didn’t like the sound of that. “What?”

“It’s important.”

Byleth’s brow scrunched together worriedly. “What is it?”

“Y’know how sometimes when women have babies, they start to love them more than they love their husband?"

She thought he was joking, but she couldn't afford to take it lightly, so she simply shook her head.

"Well, it happens! All the time!" He exclaimed. "They just forget about their husband and all their love goes to the baby."

"...are you jealous of the baby?"

"No! That's beneath me. I just…" Aellis frowned, floundering for the words. "You're mine. The only thing in my life that's ever been mine. You _belong_ to me."

Byleth breathed in, and the air ballooned in her chest. Trapped.

"Can you promise me that you won't love the baby more than you love me?" He asked, but it was too bad because she didn't love either of them.

"Aellis, you're being silly--"

"Promise me." He said and reached for a lock of her hair. His fingers came awfully close to the marks on her arms, and she felt compelled to tell him she promised. 

"I promise." The words came rushing out with the breath she had been holding like she had only said them because she needed to breathe.

He seemed satisfied with her half-assed response and turned back over to watch the game without another word. 

Eventually she got up to fix their dinner.

Byleth gripped her knife, dicing onions and tomatoes and garlic for their spaghetti sauce. Her knuckles white around its handle, and as she cooked she imagined a new pie.

Preheat oven to 450 and plate crust in pan. Stab the bottom generously with a fork so it bakes evenly, and fill with pie weights, heavy, like the sinking feeling in your stomach. Bake for about 5 minutes. In a large saucepan, combine sugar and cornstarch, stirring in milk until smooth. Be patient. Do not stir the pot too hard. Let it boil, but keep it under control until thick. Stir in butter and vanilla. Pour into crust. Sprinkle in a little cinnamon, but not too much or you’ll choke. Let it bake for fifteen to twenty minutes or until brown, and while you wait take deep breaths. This will pass. Set aside onto a wire rack and refrigerate. Cool down. It’s going to be alright.

While looking for her brown sugar, she discovered those pamphlets she had gotten from her doctor lying amidst a pile of mail and unpaid bills. She had never thrown them away like she originally planned, but she figured they served no purpose sitting on their kitchen counter like they had been since she'd taken them out of her purse. She'd given them a quick flip through once, but that was all. When she finally went to toss them out in the wastebin beneath the sink, a single slip of paper drifted onto the floor, landing right at her feet. Kneeling, Byleth stared at the business card and admired Seteth's neat scrawl.

The thought of calling him crossed her mind. She didn't know why. He probably wasn't even at the clinic at the time. She just thought it would be awfully nice to hear his voice and laugh a little. She had no idea what she would say to him but at the same time was certain they'd have no trouble finding something to talk about. Maybe she'd ask him if he really did have a brochure about domestic abuse in his drawer full of random brochures. Maybe they would go from there and maybe she wouldn't have to wait until September to finally be rid of all this bullshit.

She thumbed the business card absently, mulling over the thought of giving him a call until she realized the conversation wouldn't play out the way she needed it to. Seteth isn't a white knight sort of character. People who say "Indeed" and "Perhaps" usually aren't.

Byleth pocketed the card and decided to save it for when she really needed it.

She didn't think she'd need it so soon.

“--how can I help you?” came Nurse Casagrande’s voice from the other end.

“Oh, hello. My name’s Byleth Eisner.” She makes a point to pronounce her last name clearly so she’ll get it right next time. “I’m one of Dr. Nathair’s patients. I was wondering if I could speak with him. I have a… concern.”

“He’s with another patient right now. Do you mind holding for a minute or two?”

“Sure, no problem.”

“Perfect. Stay on the line please.”

With her cellphone to her ear, she leans against the corner, watching Felix flip burgers with a scowl. He'd be a handsome guy if he weren't so scary looking all the time. What is he so angry for?

He dings the bell and calls out, “Order up!” which is Annette’s cue to hustle her little tail over to the window. She’s humming as she works, as she always does, and she only stops to say thank you as she picks up her tray. 

The exchange lasts for less than a second, but Felix waits for her at the window and watches as she picks up her order. She glances at the ticket to know which table it goes to and then looks back up at their cook. Something in his eyes softens. The creases in his forehead ease. She wrinkles her nose at him and gives her shoulders a little shimmy before heading back onto the floor. The tune of “My Favorite Things” floats behind her.

Byleth stares at Felix with her eyebrows threatening to climb into her hairline.

“...what?” He’s back to scowling again before she knows it.

“Nothing.” She turns her grin away from him, fitting her nose into the spot where the walls met. 

“You’re fucking weird.”

“Yes, hello, Dr. Nathair?” She says when the line picks up again, meaning she’s got nothing more to say to Felix. “Yes, hi, it’s Ms. Eisner, uhm--”

“Hello, Byleth.”

A laugh forms in the back of her throat at the sound of her first name coming from him but she restrains herself. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

They both pause, not knowing what to say next, and the giggle escapes from Byleth’s lips. “Sorry to call you when you’re busy, but, ah… I have a question.”

Seteth chuckles on the other end breathily, like he’s still at a loss for words. “It’s no problem at all. How can I help you?”

“I, uhm…” She glances over her shoulder at their cook who looks too busy to be eavesdropping. “I appear to be bleeding..? It’s not a lot, but should I be worried or..?”

“Hm.” 

Byleth hears the noises of the clinic bustling in the background and the sound of papers shuffling.

“Why don’t you come to the clinic tomorrow morning?”

“Is it bad?” She asks, suddenly nervous.

“Oh, probably not, but I’d like to make sure. Is seven alright with you?”

The waitress turns back round and checks the calendar. Tomorrow she has a rare day off. “Sure. Tomorrow at seven.”

“Perfect.”

“Perfect. Tomorrow at seven--”

She’s cut off by the crash of several plates and Felix yelling out the window. “Don’t just run away from it! Where are you going!”

“I-I gotta go.” Byleth doesn’t wait for Seteth to say goodbye before rushing back out into the dining area. Someone’s lunch is splattered all over the floor, and Marianne is cowering behind the counter. “What’s going on? Are you alright?”

Annette comes zipping by looking for their mop. “It’s Mr. Lopsided!” She hisses in passing.

“He has a name!” Byleth whispers back, but she sees him. He’s seated at one of her tables, one long leg crossed over the other and a napkin in his lap. She looks down at her coworker. “What is wrong with you? Didn’t you have a good date?”

“I did!” She whispers, hands over her head like in an earthquake drill. 

_"And?”_

“I just don’t want to see him!”

Byleth is about to sputter something incredulous when Felix peers down at them from the window. “Is someone going to take Mr. Lopsided’s order or am I going to have to do everything myself around here?”

Byleth knows how Marianne can be so she pulls herself to her feet, brushes herself off, and pulls her lips into a smile. She approaches Lorenz’ table with her best cheesy waitress ensemble donned. “Hey, there. How’re you doing today?”

“I am doing splendidly today, Miss--” He looks at her nametag-- “Byleth. Lovely name. And you? I hope you are faring well.”

“Why, thank you. I’m just fine,” she says. She clicks her pen and puts it to her orderbook. “Can I start you off with a drink?”

“Actually…” Lorenz says, glancing over her shoulder.

His waitress follows his line of sight but sees nothing except Annette, who’s cleaning up the mess on the floor. She waves, but it’s not her that he’s looking for.

“Actually?” Byleth parrots.

“This is not anything against you, but I was hoping to have a different waitress today.”  
  


“Ah, I see. If I may ask, who would that be?”

“I seek a lovely woman named Marianne. She has the kindest brown eyes, deeper and richer than the caramel in the pie she gifted me, and the tenderest of smiles, more delicate than the first blossom after a brutal winter. A rather unforgettable specimen if I do say so myself.” 

“Marianne?” She pockets her book and crosses her arms over her chest, chuckling softly at his description of her. That and he pronounced _caramel_ like _car-mull_ instead of _care-a-mull_. “And why would you be looking for her?”

“To be frank, she and I had the most loveliest of dates last night, and before I could ask for the pleasure of another, she ran off as if frightened by the prospect.”

“I am so sorry to hear that. I will get her for you right away.”

“Would you? That would be marvelous. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Byleth ducks under the counter where Marianne is still hiding.

Marianne begins to protest. “No--” 

“Someone really likes you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Of course I know that! He just described you like you were sculpted by Michaelangelo himself!” Byleth throws her arms far out in front of her.

Marianne doesn't seem swayed. “I found out that… his and my father were good friends. He talked a good amount about him too during our date. What if he expects me to be like my father? I’m not like him.”

“Does your father have kind caramel eyes and a dainty spring flower smile?”

Marianne giggles at how she imitated the way Lorenz spoke, down to the odd way he pronounced caramel. “No.”

Byleth takes her friend by the hand and pulls her to her feet. “Then he likes you just as you are. Now go take his order before Felix throws a fit.”

Annette wheels the mop bucket past them with a thumbs up and the biggest grin she could muster.

Marianne hesitates, but eventually she makes her way over to Lorenz’ table. "Hello again. Can I… take your order?"

"Marianne!" The man coos with his hands folded delicately upon the table. "I am absolutely delighted to see you. When you ran off last night, I was distraught with the idea I would never be graced with your presence again."

"About that…"

"Yes? What is it?"

"I-I would really prefer if you left me alone." She mumbled almost incoherently, and then louder she said, "Can I interest you in coffee today? We also have a small selection of teas and fresh-squeezed juices."

"I'm sorry. I didn't quite catch the first part." 

Marianne gathers up her courage and lifts her chin. She repeats what she said, more firmly this time. "I would prefer it if you left me alone."

Lorenz is taken aback by this statement. "But why? Is there something about me that is not to your liking? I am a perfect gentleman with the highest pedigree. My manners leave nothing to be desired. I've a good education under my belt and a noble occupation. What is not meeting your standards?"

She shakes her head. "It's not you. It's me."

"This may be the first time I have ever heard those words in real life."

“Well, it’s true…” 

“You and I had the most delightful date last night, and it may have only lasted an entirety of forty-five minutes but I feel as if I have known you for the entirety of a lifetime.”

Marianne chews on her bottom lip and shakes her head, re-readies her stance. She’s made up her mind on this, and there’s no way someone so… poised and together could be this into her. “We have fresh squeezed apple and orange juice. Our special pie today is White Knuckle Cream Pie, which is a traditional cinnamon sugar cream pie from scratch--”

“Did you make that pie for me last night?”

“No--”

“Yes!” Annette and Byleth pipe in from different spots in the diner. They aren’t trying to be inconspicuous. It’s obvious the entire place is listening in on their conversation. It’s the most action that ever happens in their little community.

“She did,” says Annette, rather proudly. It isn’t exactly a lie. 

“It was delectable!” Lorenz exclaims. He reaches out and takes her hand in his, promptly halting her taking an order. “Your delicate fingers put so much care into arranging the petals of that rose, I could hardly bear to think to take a knife to it, lest it be ruined the moment I did."

Byleth and Annette exchanged knowing glances with each other, eyebrows arched and eyes rolled back to the sky. The younger of the two giggles and pretends to poke a finger down her throat.

But Marianne seems smitten by the line. It strikes a chord with her, echoing her own words from the night before. She looks at her hand in his but does not retract it, blushing softly.

"I had a wonderful time last night," Lorenz said in earnest. "I don't know what could not have been to your liking, but if you'll permit me just another chance, I hope you'll see what I see."

She's scared but compelled to ask. "Wh-what is it you see?"

"That you are _beautiful_ and you and I would go swimmingly together."

She looks away from his intense and honest gaze, glancing over to her friends for help. Byleth makes shooing motions at her, and Annette shoots her a thumbs up as she mouths the words, "I'll take your tables!" Even Felix (although out of sheer annoyance at the disgustingly open display of sugary _filth_ ) remarks she's about to hit her fifth and is due for a lunch.

Which means she's on her own for this one.

The next thing she knows, she's getting ushered into the chair opposite Lorenz.

"Annette--!" She exclaims in surprise.

The young woman grins brightly with a pen to her orderbook. "How're you guys doing today? Can I start you off with drinks?" 

"What are you doing?"

"Waiting on your second date!" She replies as if it's obvious. "How about our special pie of the day? It’s a traditional cinnamon sugar cream pie made from scratch right here in our very own kitchen.”

“If it is anywhere near as good as the one I had last night, I would love to have a slice. Marianne?" Lorenz is more than happy to play along.

Marianne has no time to reflect on the sheer absurdity of the situation. "S-sure," she sputters out, but it sounds more like a question than an answer.

"And whipped cream off to the side of the plate, right?"

"Yes--"

Lorenz gasps. "You do that too?"

Marianne shrinks a little. "Well, yes… If I trust other people to putting whipped cream on the pie, it could get soggy and--"

"You can't control the cream to pie ratio!" Lorenz nods sagely in understanding. 

"Precisely."

"Alright, so two slices for the cute couple. Anything else? Drinks?" Annette asks.

"I think a cup of coffee would match the sweetness of the pie. What would you think?" Lorenz raises a brow at his date as if testing her.

She gladly rises to the challenge. "Sure, with a bit of cream, no sugar."

"The same for me."

A smile fights its way onto Marianne's lips, which eventually part for a laugh. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you pronounce caramel wrong im sorry
> 
> also i like genuinely love netteflix and loremari so im happy i get to write a little bit of them before the setleths kick in next chapter *excited buzzing*
> 
> ALSO LOOK AT [THIS INCREDIBLE ART](https://twitter.com/phoenx_art/status/1251573338821947395) JAKE GIFTED ME HE'S SO GREAT PLS LOOK AT ALL HIS OTHER ART TOO


	6. peachy keen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> one taste, and i want the whole thing.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Aellis' voice shot a chill straight down Byleth's spine, freezing her feet to the ground. She's only made it a single step out of the house when he catches her. It isn't as if she were sneaking out to do something scandalous, but his tone frightens her. She has to pick her words carefully.

Her grip on the strap of her purse tightens, and the sweat on her palms glides across the leather. She has a paper bag in her other hand, weighted with a few of her leftover goodies wrapped in tin foil. 

"I'm… going to the doctor," she replies. Simple. Honest.

"You weren't gonna tell me?"

She turns and smiles in apology, lips pressed thin. "I didn't want to wake you. It's early."

"I'll say. The sun's barely even out!" He shouts, squinting blearily at the sky. 

"I know, I know. It's just… a little urgent." The woman holds up her hands in a calm gesture for him to lower his voice. They live in a shoddy condominium; each unit is about 1200 square feet and built around a parking lot in a semicircle. The neighbors aren't too fond of his yelling in the morning-- or at all for that matter, but it's never something they bothered to do anything about besides peek an uneasy eye through their curtains to observe what all the fuss was about. One day, Byleth is sure, they'd find her dead on the street, and she'd have no one to blame but herself.

There are small red aluminum signs on each door that read, "No Soliciting."

"Urgent?" Her husband snorts, leaning against the doorframe, half asleep.

"You know how I told you I was bleeding a little yesterday?"

"...did you?"

"Yes, I did, Aellis," she nods and inhales. She holds that breath and leans in to kiss his cheek on her own accord. Presses her fingertips to his jaw for good measure and the feel of his stubble almost makes her sick. "I'm going to be late for my appointment."

It seems to do the charm on him, because he rubs the back of his head, grumbling something incoherent, and shuffles back into the house for a couple more hours of sleep. Byleth locks the door behind him and sighs in relief.

It was a lot easier to get out of the house than she thought it would be.

Getting to her doctor’s was a different story, however, because she has to walk five blocks only to miss the first bus, wait for another, and walk another five blocks. She wishes she lives somewhere where Lyft is a thing or at least somewhere that could afford putting up more stops so they’re closer together and fueling more buses but… The thought of getting out of the house when she would otherwise have no excuse to keeps her going. Spring is starting to kick up into a full, warm bloom. The streets are quiet, and no one’s keeping a wary eye on her through the slit in their curtains.

Seteth is waiting for her on the porch of the clinic, fumbling with his keys.

"Good morning, Byleth," he greets her with a smile.

"You're awfully quick to jump to a first name basis with me,  _ Dr. Nathair,"  _ she quips as she approaches. Standing beside him as he unlocks the door, she realizes just how  _ tall _ he is. 

Seteth doesn’t remark on her name. The door gives, and he simply holds it open for her. “Ladies first.”

“What a gentleman.” Byleth ducks into the building first. She lifts the paper bag she has in her hands to show to him. “I brought you some Peachy Keen tarts I baked last night. Aellis-- my husband… He didn’t want them.”

“Why, thank you. I won’t let them go to waste,” he promises her as he takes it off her hands. He takes long strides across the reception room. “Let me turn the heat on and straighten a few things out.”

The practice is an old, one level cottage house with a porch and a tidy front lawn lined with flowers; most small businesses are as such in town. There’s no room for larger, complex buildings. It’d be overlooked as a place of residence if not for the large white sign that read the name of Byleth’s old obstetrician out front. With Seteth now in charge at least for the time being, she wonders if they’d change it.

“Where is everybody?”

“We’re the first ones here. I… came a little early to see you.”

Byleth can’t tell if she’s flattered or creeped out.

“Go ahead and undress in the first room to your left, if you wouldn’t mind. You’ll find the gowns in the first drawer under the bed.”

Seteth doesn’t seem to find this odd in the slightest, so Byleth carries on as normal as she can and does as she’s told. She hangs her dress over a chair and ties the paper smock around her tight. She never knows what to do with her shoes, but she keeps them neatly off to the side beside her purse. In a minute, a knock comes on the door, and she gives Dr. Nathair the clear to go as she’s decent.

As she sits atop the examination table, the man asks her a few questions and prods her gently with a stethoscope. Takes her blood pressure. Scribbles notes into her charts in his clipboard.

Byleth answers his questions dutifully. Yes, she’s keeping up with her diet. Yes, she’s taking her prenatal vitamins. Not much exercise. Not much sex either. 

She wonders just what it is about her doctor (of all people!) that pulls her in. Was it his eyes behind his dorky wire frames? How she almost forgets to pay attention to what he says because she keeps getting lost exploring in them and wondering what they’d seen? Surmising what they were hiding? How he was… nervous and sweet around her but also twice as strong and still would never use that against her? How he would use his hands to heal her and hold her, instead of hit her?

Maybe her bar for men is too low but… 

Seteth makes her feel  _ something, _ and that something is good. It made her want things, other than running away or not dying so she could see tomorrow, which isn’t much, but in all fairness, it was a lot more than what she has now.

“And your bleeding?” He asks her, hanging his stethoscope around his neck. “Was it heavy? Has it stopped?”

“It was only some light spotting. I checked this morning, and I didn’t see it anymore.”

“Light enough it wouldn’t have covered a pad?”

It’s weird to hear a man talk about pads and things, but she supposes it’s par for the course to have a man as a gynecologist. She tells him yes.

“Were you particularly uncomfortable or sore when you experienced the spotting? Excuse me.” He puts his hands on her, low on her belly, pressing around with two fingers. His touch is firm but gentle. “Does it hurt when I touch you?”

Of course it doesn’t hurt when he touches her. 

“Are you worried about miscarrying?”

One corner of her lips goes up in tandem with one of her shoulders. She shrugs. “Not particularly.”

It’s something she knows Annette and Marianne would harp on her about. Yes, she’s taking the best care she can of herself and the baby. No, she doesn’t feel the least bit affectionate for  _ her _ , as the girls insist it’s a  _ her _ , but to Byleth… it’s just an it. An alien. A parasite. Another chain tying her down to her shit husband.

If she miscarries, she miscarries. If she doesn’t, she doesn’t.

“Well, that’s good,” Seteth says, lifting himself onto his feet. “Go ahead and get dressed, and I’ll meet you in my office when you’re ready.”

“You’re not going to examine me?” Byleth asks him with a frown. 

She watches his white coat wrinkle under his hands as he fixes them against his waist. Eyeing her as she sits there half-dressed, he looks like he wants to say more but decides against it. “We’ll discuss further in my office down the hall once you’re ready.”

It’s all he says before he closes the door behind him.

With a sigh, she takes off the paper gown and slips back into her dress and shoes.

The clinic had the layout and general feel of a house, seeing as it most likely was one in the past, with clean hardwood floors and wallpapered walls. The waiting room and reception desk was perhaps a living room once before, simply refitted with cushioned chairs, and the rooms down the hall would have looked like normal bedrooms were it not for the hospital equipment installed in each one. Seteth’s office, Byleth surmised, was once the master bedroom because it was bigger than most and it had its own bathroom adjoined to it. Her old OBGYN Dr. Siph must have retired in an awful hurry, because all of her old files still occupied the space, and it appeared Seteth was in the middle of making sense of her organization skills. Papers nearly cover the floor save for a convenient path from the door to the chairs on opposite sides of a desk that is just as cluttered as the carpet. 

“I… apologize for the mess,” Dr. Nathair says behind a hand. Byleth has caught him taking a bite out of the sweets she’d brought him. She minds neither the mess nor the absolutely blissed out expression he has on his face as he swallows.

“I apologize for interrupting your breakfast.”

They share a laugh and have a seat.

“This is delicious, by the way. Biblically delicious.”

“Thank you.”

Seteth plucks a tissue from the box on his desk and wipes his lips with it. Byleth thinks it’s funny how he could do something incredibly awkward one moment, but then redeem himself the next. Every movement he makes so fluid and poised. 

“Really, what you do with food is simply magical,” he tells her.

She shakes her head. “I’m flattered but, uhm… Am I okay?”

“Hm?”

“Am I okay?” Byleth asks again. “With the bleeding and everything.”

The doctor blinks at her. “I don’t see why you wouldn’t be.”

The poor woman’s taken aback, and it must be plainly written on her face because Seteth continues to explain.

“Spotting is a perfectly normal symptom in early pregnancy. It becomes less common as you progress, and you are heading into your second trimester, but if it was only for a day and it doesn’t hurt, then I don’t see a cause for concern.” He laces his fingers together and turns his palms up like he’s shrugging. 

Byleth is silent for a second. She doesn't know what to say to that. "What do you mean spotting is a perfectly normal symptom in early pregnancy?" 

"...Uhm, it means what it means. I don't have any way to simplify that."

She scoffs. She doesn't mean to be rude, but this is ridiculous. "You mean I got up early, walked ten blocks, took the bus on my  _ day off _ only for you to tell me that spotting is a perfectly normal symptom in early pregnancy?"

Seteth blinks his pretty green eyes. "I… have no response to that."

"What time does this place open anyways? Eight?"

"...nine," he admits, almost shamefully.

"Nine! Why would you have me come in  _ two  _ hours early just to tell me I'm fine?"

"I apologize. I… I simply… misunderstood." Again he looks as if there were more he wants to tell her, but he refrains. He resigns himself to twiddling his thumbs and looking at his lap, his expression an odd cocktail of embarrassment and something Byleth can't quite put her finger on, but it's  _ almost _ cute.

Not cute enough for her to stay though.

Byleth stands and adjusts her sweater around her shoulders. "What is your aim, Dr. Nathair?"

"No  _ aim _ , I only wanted…" He loses his words again, turning his eyes up to meet her. He looks like a lost puppy.

“Wanted what?”

Seteth hesitates again. “Nothing,” he says at length. “I will see you at your next regularly scheduled appointment. Feel free to call me if--”

“If I have any questions or concerns,” she snaps.

“That is correct.”

Byleth flails her arms for a second, trying to pick words from out of the air. “Why are you…  _ like that? _ ”

“Like what?”

“All nice and awkward and sweet and--”

“Sweet?”

“Yes. I mean no. Shit.”

“I’m a bit confused,” he confesses.

“So am I!” She’s yelling and she doesn’t know why.

“Ms. Eisner--”

“Why am I suddenly Ms. Eisner again?!”

“A-alright, then, Byleth.”

“That’s better.”

Seteth laughs, going red to the tips of his ears. “Byleth, I… I perhaps may have misread things between us.”

“Misread things?” The conversation is going faster than she can keep up with.

“At the bus stop and... “ He sighs, carefully sifting through his words. “When I first saw you… When we first met, I couldn’t have been the only one who thought--”

“Oh. No. We met _ two weeks _ ago…”

“And ever since then, I cannot stop thinking about you. I think you’re wonderful,” he continues, rather boldly, and he stands. He takes a few steps towards her. “When I see you, I feel calm, and yet I can’t keep my composure. It’s so strange. I--”

“Dr. Nathair, please, stop--”

“I want to see you more-- outside of here. We can grab a coffee or something.”

“I can’t have coffee! It’s in the list of bad foods you gave me. What kind of doctor are you?” Even now all she can think of are the stupid pamphlets he’d given her.

“Well, you can have… water or fruit juice or…” He shakes his head in lieu of finishing his sentence. “I just want to see you again.”

Byleth holds her breath and considers her options. On one hand, she can take two steps forward, right into his embrace. She can let him sweep her off her feet and touch her more with his big strong hands. On the other hand, she can forget about all this. She can walk away. Aellis doesn’t have to kill her. She doesn’t have to lose her life over some stupid thing like a flutter in her stomach. 

She looks at the ring on her finger. Then she looks at the framed photo on his desk. His daughter, she surmises, is a cute girl. His wife is probably not too bad looking herself.

“I have to go now.” The poor waitress throws her hands up and begins to stalk out the door. 

It’s for the best that she just runs out. She’s made up her mind. She’s a rational person. Acting on emotions and attraction and hope could never lead to anywhere good. She should find another doctor and never see him again. She shouldn’t give herself the chance to think twice about her decision.

She’s halfway off the porch when she stops and remembers her purse. As she pivots back around, the front door swings open. Seteth has her bag in his hand.

“Wait, you forgot your--”

Byleth makes a move to grab her stuff from him but her hand finds his wrist instead and pulls him in. She second guessed herself.

Byleth had forgotten that kissing wasn’t just  _ lips. _

It was lips and teeth and tongues and hands.  _ Hands! _ Hands on her cheeks and pushing through her hair and on the small of her back, pulling her closer. It wasn’t just a swipe across the cheek and yanking away as fast as she could in fear a fist would follow because it wasn’t good enough. But this was all good enough. It was more than good. 

It wasn’t just giving. It was taking.

God, she missed  _ taking. _

But she has to pull away, and she does so faster than she would have liked to because she’s a rational person. She’s rational enough to know that they shouldn’t be kissing on the sidewalk and that this is a small town and people love to  _ talk. _

"Sorry," she sputters.

Seteth is still a little slow on the uptake. His eyes are blown wide open and his arm is still stuck out with her purse in his fist. "N-no, don't be sorry."

“It’s a bad idea." She snatches her bag back from him. Straightens her back and looks him square in the eyes to appear more resolute, but it's a mistake, because at that moment he takes off his glasses and tucks them away and she can see his eyes so clearly. So close.

She's falling in them.

“What is?” Seteth asks, his hands reluctantly shoved way back down his pockets. He’s fidgeting. Ashamed. Restrained. Just  _ aching _ to touch her again.

“Me and you!” She exclaims. “You have a wife, and I have a husband. I’m  _ pregnant, _ and you’re my  _ doctor! _ It’s-- It’s a bad idea, me and you.”

"Right, it would be irresponsible and immoral on my part," Dr. Nathair nods, lips pressed into a thin line. He isn't looking her in the eye.

“And Aellis would  _ kill  _ me.”

“We wouldn’t want that.”

“We just can’t… We can’t do this.” She gestures frantically to the both of them. To their proximity. He’s just within arm’s reach of her. 

“Right. You’re right. I totally agree.”

“Oh, don’t agree with me!” Byleth whines. She doesn’t need him to agree with her. She needs him to help her realize just what the hell he makes her feel. She needs him to take his hands out of his goddamn pockets and before she knows it she’s fallen back into his embrace with his fingers cupping her cheeks and his lips on hers. 

It feels like the world is spinning around them.

Like her heart has stopped, but the world keeps turning with them right on the axis. 

She feels… inexperienced in his arms. Like she had never been kissed or held before, and that may as well have been true, considering how the past six years of her life have gone. 

She feels new.

“Wait--” She stammers. A slim string of saliva connects their tongues. Neither of them know what to do about it. His hands are pushing through his hair, and hers are in his back pockets.

Seteth apologizes breathlessly, but he doesn’t appear to be truly sorry about any of it.

“Not out here,” Byleth tells him, and Seteth wheels her back, back,  _ back _ into the one-level cottage house turned clinic. They opened in an hour and a half.

Plenty of time.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...i was gonna write porn for this but i love myself too much to go over my word limit so.  
>  _next chapter._


	7. a little wild wildberry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> feels so good to be bad.

_Dear baby, I swear it wasn’t always about the sex._

_..._

_But_ **_damn_ ** _was it good._

Besides the obvious ones, there are many reasons why Byleth hardly sleeps with her own husband anymore. One of them being that Aellis is just bad at it.

At home, sex was always something she had to do. Like a chore. She _owed_ it to Aellis, who put food on the table and kept a roof over her head, just as much as she owed it to herself to just get it over with. Refusing only meant one of two things: more begging until she gave in or more begging until he rolled over and mumbled something derogatory.

Usually she’d give him the excuse that she wasn’t feeling well, which isn’t exactly a lie nowadays, but it had stopped working. Just a week ago, he attempted to _sweeten_ her up to the idea, saying if he couldn’t be with her he’d probably die because she was so beautiful. She was so sexy. She was this and that, and all the while she swatted at his hands. It was almost like a game, guessing where her husband would attempt to touch her next and where to push him away, but it wasn’t any kind of fun for her.

Byleth groaned, holding her arms close to herself. “I don’t _feel_ beautiful.”

Aellis eventually quit it, but he of course had to have the last word. “You’re getting fat anyways,” he huffed as he banished himself to the far end of the bed.

He was the one who taught her that sex was something where she only had to give, rather than take.

At home it was never satisfying. It was sweaty and gross and heavy and... Byleth kept her eyes shut and her mouth closed unless he told her to say something “sexy,” and he’d usually finish before she could come up with something, suddenly crying into her ear, making her jump and stiffen but for different reasons. She’d let out the breath she’d been holding, and as Aellis rolled off of her, he’d ask her if it was good. In the dark, she’d attempt to make a sleepy yet affirming noise, like the ones she’d seen in movies. She’d probably do well enough to be an actress the way that she pretends with him, sighing a moan as if on cue, arching her back feigning pleasure. It was all just pretend. Sticky and hot and empty, she’d lull herself to sleep.

That too, as unfulfilling as many things in her life were, was clockwork.

But Seteth…

Seteth wheels her back, back, back into the clinic, through the door and past the waiting room. Down the hall and over the hardwood floors, until they’re back in his office, Byleth’s hands clutched tight around his arms like she’s the one pulling him. In truth, she doesn’t know what else to do with them. How else to react. She lets Seteth guide her through the towers of paper and files littering the ground until her back hits what she assumes is the desk. 

She’s stiff, like someone who doesn’t know how to dance with another person, or at least never learned how to properly. 

There’s a wall of ice built around her skin-- years and years of closing herself off piled into layers, making her stiff at the joints. Cold and defensive. She doesn’t know how to take it down, but he’s patient.

With one knee between her legs, he takes her hands from his sleeves and gently holds her by the wrist. She’s vulnerable this way, powerless to stop him from moving too fast. The feeling is a confusing one, a needle tickering between excitement and terror. With his lips and fingers on her neck, he’s free to kiss and touch and prod wherever he wants-- or to wring the life clean out of her.

He commits to the former.

He releases her soon enough, and she still has no idea what to do with her hands. Should she touch him back? Does she have the right to?

Seteth takes his time with her. He makes sure he’s doing right by her. He doesn’t move _slowly_ per se, but his movements are meaningful. Careful. He can tell that Byleth is still apprehensive, despite the fact that she is clearly consenting to all of this, but perhaps _consenting_ is not the right word. She seems… resigned.

“Are you… alright?” He asks her, coming to a full halt. He takes a step back. He stops touching her, and as he does, her body aches for it almost immediately.

She can’t answer his question with her words. Byleth takes a deep breath. Nods at length. A soreness settles in the place where her thighs meet the desk, and she shifts her weight to be more comfortable. 

Seteth is still paused for a moment, and when he moves again, it’s with a small “Excuse me” as he reaches over to clear his desk from clutter. Her breath catches in her throat when he comes close, but he only relocates a few piles of paperwork, a handful of knickknacks, and the framed photo of his family onto the floor. Guilt pangs at Byleth’s side, making her sweat a little, but she forgets with the flutter in her chest as he slides his glasses off his nose, folds them, and places them at a corner of the desk just out of reach.

She sees his eyes so much more clearly now. They’re not just one shade of green. They glimmer and sparkle, flicker and wave, viridescent and flecked with dark golds, like light flitting between the gaps of leaves on trees. He holds a whole forest and all of its riches in his eyes.

Byleth wonders, absently, what he sees in hers.

With an arm propping him up on the desk, the doctor leans in again, peppering kisses along the side of her neck. He pushes forward, more and more, washing her neck with kind kisses, and she has no choice but to lean away until her back hits the cleared desk. She’s lying underneath him, with her legs dangling off the side and her hands awkwardly on the sides of her head, almost as if in surrender.

Seteth’s hands travel much lower much faster than she’s comfortable with, and he doesn’t miss it when she grows tense. He takes his touch away from her thighs and places them back on her waist. Their eyes are locked and he simply nods in understanding.

He dips for a kiss, and she gives it to him. He swipes his tongue against the gate of her teeth, and she opens up for him. He tastes like black coffee and Peachy Keen Tarts. He palms his way up her sides, and he stops at her ribs when she goes rigid again. Waits for her to relax. When she does, he still explores her body through her dress, just gingerly. 

The ice begins to thaw.

Byleth settles into Seteth’s touch. Moves her breath with his and takes note of where their bodies meet, hot and much too covered in clothing-- his knee parting her legs, his hands anchored on her hips, his mouth on hers, and his hair sweeping against her cheek and brow.

Warily, her hands finally move from the spot around her head and move to tuck his hair behind his ears. It’s softer than she thought it would be.

“Sorry,” he says in a shy whisper.

She shakes her head. “Don’t be.”

When he kisses her again, his hair falls back into her face, and she laughs as she holds it against the sides of his head, which makes him chuckle as well.

“You have a beautiful smile,” Seteth tells her, honest and sweet as ever.

The ice cracks.

Byleth’s face heats up all the way to her ears. It’s been a while since anyone had called her beautiful. She doesn’t feel beautiful. She feels _fat_ , like Aellis said. She feels bloated and bruised and achy and… Warm. Her whole body is warm from tip to toe. For a moment, she relaxes, with her hands on his cheeks, and Seteth slips through her grip. His lips trail along her jaw and neck, and she lets him.

Not because she has to.

Because she wants to.

She lets him lavish her throat with kisses, and she lets him touch below the hem of her dress. His hands are gentle and smooth against her skin without the barrier of his nylon gloves. Her skin rises to meet his touch. Her hips raise off the desk when his fingers hook into her panties and tug.

They’re one of her less fancy pairs, plain beige and an old-fashioned boxy cut. Byleth tries not to make it obvious that she’s embarrassed about them. Had she known this was going to end up this way, maybe she would have worn something that at least matched her bra. Seteth’s eyes are trained on her flushed face, and they slight with a tickled smile. He pulls her underwear off one foot first and then the other, popping one of her shoes off in the process. He does away with the other, tossing it somewhere unimportant like he did her panties. She has the thought to close her legs, just out of instinct, but her doctor still has his knee between them and a strong hold on her thighs. 

The thought crosses her mind then, that in a few minutes, this would all be over and done with. After a few wonderful minutes, Seteth would tuck himself back into his pants and she’d gather herself and… That would be that.

But he does something she doesn’t expect when he pushes her dress up her stomach, revealing everything. He kisses her. He starts at the knee and proceeds to trail his lips down her leg and along her inner thigh. Byleth twitches and jumps at every touch, anticipating. She chokes back a gasp when he fits his face between her legs and presses the pad of his tongue against her. It’s hot and sends a jolt straight through her spine as it arches and lifts off the desk.

She makes a noise she never knew she could make, halfway between a sigh and a groan, eyes rolling back and fluttering shut.

The ice melts.

Seteth thumbs the ridges of her pelvis, keeping her legs apart so he can mouth at her, and he does so expertly. He has her sweating in a minute, her breath escaping her in mewls and unseemly moans. At one point, her hands shoot down to his head and grip his hair in tight fists and pull him closer. He takes that as his cue to continue doing what he’s doing, working around her lips with his tongue. With his fingers he holds her open for his tongue. He laps at her until her thighs squeeze against his ears, and only then does he stop. He draws away, kissing back up her thigh and she follows, pulling her limbs back. 

“Should I stop?”

As he stands, Byleth can see his mouth is wet. A sharp scent has filled the office, and to her abject mortification, she figures it’s because of her. She doesn’t have the chance to dwell on it because of his question. 

“Yes,” she stammers. Her head is spinning as it lifts so she can look at him. “Wait, I mean, no.”

His fingers skim across her skin and stop, just at her dripping entrance and Byleth _aches_ . Her chest deflates as she sighs and moves her hips against his hand, asking-- _begging_ for him without words, and thank God he obliges because she feels fits to burst. Seteth inserts a digit inside her, moving in his slow, deliberate way, and always watching her reactions. Making sure this was good for her. Leaned over her, he pumps his hand in and out of her heat. Seteth presses in another finger, and as he does, he locks lips with hers. They only meet for a second, but Byleth takes note of a new, acrid taste in his mouth, not unlike the smell that perfumed the air.

Byleth thinks she should be disgusted, but… Aellis had certainly never put his own mouth down there before. It was always herself _giving_ oral. She’s finding as he explores her body that there’s a lot of things she had yet to experience. A lot of things she had yet to learn she liked. A lot of things she was _missing._

Seteth pulls away from their kiss and ducks back down to put his tongue to better use again, still with his fingers inside her, crooking them into the back of her walls. Byleth jumps in response and lets out a moan when he swipes against her clit, and her vision blurs so hard she can hardly tell she’s looking at the ceiling. She tightens around his fingers, and the world goes blank around her for a while.

When she comes to her senses, her doctor is still between her legs, gently pecking and carressing at her inner thighs as he waits for her head to come back down from the clouds. They’re both hot and breathing a little hard, and still almost entirely clothed. Byleth tries not to notice the visible tent in Seteth’s neatly ironed slacks. For someone so used to _giving,_ she suddenly really doesn’t want to reciprocate. She’s breathless and fucked-out, and honestly ready to take a fat nap. To sleep and pretend this is all just a dream. 

But it’s not and she can’t go back now. 

In all probability, neither of them carried around condoms but she figures: fuck it. She’s already pregnant, and there’s not much else Seteth can do to wreck her life. Without another word, she pulls him in by the tie, pushes the white coat off his shoulders, and continues to let herself melt against him.

\---

Some time later, Byleth finds it harder to yank her consciousness out of the haze of a second orgasm (though it could have been her third or possibly more than that, she wasn’t counting). The skin on her back is plastered to the wood of the desk with her sweat, and her hair sticks out every which way. Seteth is in no better shape in the aftermath, near incapable of holding himself up any longer, pants shoved down to his knees. Byleth had barely managed to tear his shirt off before getting into it again.

With a kiss, they peel themselves off each other, and Byleth’s bones creak as she lifts herself to her feet.

Getting dressed again was an unceremonious affair. Neither spoke as they fitted themselves back into their clothes. The waitress shimmies back into her dress, facing a wall even though at this point there was nothing that Seteth hadn’t seen or gotten his mouth on. The man was very good with his mouth. There are sounds of papers shuffling behind her as he rights his desk. She turns to face him, and he has his dorky glasses back on along with the rest of his attire and is holding her shoes out to her. She takes them with a small thank you. 

As she kicks into her flats, Aellis, Byleth mentions as an afterthought, is probably getting suspicious of her whereabouts by now, so Seteth drives her home afterwards, and the ride is… uncomfortable at worst and simply quiet at best. He owns a nice looking Hyundai SUV, clean on the inside and with more seats than he probably needs to fit his 3-person family in, but Byleth supposes when you're a doctor you can do whatever you want with your money. Like buy a big car with seats no one sits in.

The radio is off and the windows are rolled up.

Seteth-- _Dr. Nathair_ , her _doctor_ , doesn't speak for the duration of the ride, and she's grateful for it. She can't look at him. Her gaze falls out the window, watching the tree-lined streets of her hometown zip past. She watches the lawns become a little less neat and the houses less uniform as they cruise farther from the clinic and closer to her complex. The excitement of their fling had died down with the adrenaline and the too-quick thumping of her heart in the cage of her chest, and she's seeing things a little too clearly now. 

She's heard of _post-orgasm clarity_ before, read it in shitty five dollar romance novels and heard other, _normal_ women her age whisper it blushing behind their hands, but it was never clear to her until now whether or not it was a clever plot device or a real thing in the real world. Boy, is it hitting her _hard._

Byleth tries not to think about it too much and lets her mind wander. With her hands clutched tightly in her lap, she imagines up a new pie for tomorrow.

An anise pudding base, with mashed rhubarbs and tapioca. Best with coffee to combat the sweetness and wake yourself the hell up. Chew slowly. Think carefully about all this. And the most she thinks, the more her thoughts drift back to the view of the ceiling in Seteth's office. She remembers his hands on her. How every movement he made had her shivering and wanting more. His mouth on her mouth, on the side of her knee, on the inside of her thigh, on--

Byleth shakes her head no. The gesture is only to herself but Seteth takes notice and asks her if everything's alright. She then nods.

In all honesty she tells him, "I'm inventing a pie in my head."

"Oh? Care to share?" He takes his eyes off the road only to glance at her.

And in all honesty she was going to call that one Aellis Kills Me For Cheating On Him Pie, but she can't quite disclose that, so she makes another one up on the spot. A crisp, salty crust with strawberry jam hidden under a helping of creme patisserie like a too-sweet secret. Heap on sliced strawberries, blueberries, and blackberries, and peel back each layer. The white coat first, and then the tie, and then the shirt… Individual-sized portions of goodness, small enough to hide. To sweep under the rug and forget it ever even came to fruition. 

Right. She can't let this happen again. This was a mistake. A moment of weakness, and in the moment she can't fault either of them for succumbing to it. They just needed to stop. She had her fun. She now knows what it's like to be held by him; her curiosity is sated. It was mere _curiosity_ this entire time. 

Byleth must have trailed off at the end, because Seteth offers to fill the silence. "Sounds delicious." 

She nods. While she has her mind made up she opens her mouth to let him know this was never going to happen again when--

"Sorry, you said you lived where?"

"Oh. Uh. Just keep going straight down this road for a few more blocks…. Could you drop me off at the bus stop actually? It's just up ahead." Her neighbors are nosy, and Seteth may have been built well, but Byleth doubts he'd be able to take Aellis in the fight that was sure to ensue if he ever spotted his fancy car roll into the parking lot.

The doctor understands. "That'd be no problem at all."

The bus stop comes up much faster than she thought it would, and the poor waitress knows she's missed her chance to cut this all off cleanly. The SUV pulls over to the sidewalk, and Byleth makes sure she has her purse on her before stepping out. Before she can close the door, however, Seteth speaks up.

"When can I see you again?" He asks, and it's such an innocent question, so why does she feel so _evil_ hiding away an answer that was clearly _no?_ Why is she struggling to say so?

Byleth shakes her head and shrugs without a word.

"I… I had a wonderful time with you today," Seteth tells her. "I meant it when I said we could meet some place else and grab a coffee--" She almost objects to the coffee with the same line as before, that she can't have coffee as per his orders, but he drops his head in realization-- "or fruit juice or water. I just… I want to see you again."

"I don't know," she says.

"Will you at least call me if you have any questions or concerns?"

"...I don't think I will."

Seteth turns up his hands in a helpless, surrendering gesture. “Well--”

“Good bye, Dr. Nathair.”

The armor of ice is back up, and she needs to rebuild it before she gets home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *HIDES MY FACE IN MY HANDS*  
> AHAH,


	8. orange zest for life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1 cup of guilt.  
> 2 cups of secrets.  
> mix in liberally.

Byleth didn’t call Dr. Nathair after that.

... _ that? _

Why does she say it with such disdain in her head? Like it was some horrible incident? They were two consenting adults, having sex.

Married adults having sex.

In any case, in her head, it wasn't an incident. It was more like an  _ accident _ .

...You probably can't  _ accidentally _ have sex with your doctor.

Three times.

Okay, you definitely can’t.

In any case, she refused to contact him. Not even when she found herself spotting a little bit after that. She just turned to the internet, and it wasn’t as if she trusted WebMD to not tell her she or the baby alien inside her were dying, but it was all she had. 

It was probably fine.

There are other things she has to worry about presently, like how the electric bill at home is way overdue or how there's a weighted tape-dispenser-shaped dent in the living room wall because Aellis got upset at the outcome of some sports game or another... And now it’s this trucker at the counter complaining that his coffee isn’t hot enough, and Hanneman is at his usual booth, griping about how the diner is  _ too _ hot.

“Can you  _ please _ turn the air con on, for the love of God?” He grouses as Byleth fills his mug with orange juice. No pulp, strained special that morning just for him.

“I’ll ask Felix,” she tells him with a yawn. 

“Give that boy a smack upside the head while you do,” he snaps.

The waitress lets out the breath of a laugh as she straightens herself out and readies her order pad. “Gladly. What can I get for you today, Hanneman?”

The old man continues to prattle on as if he doesn’t hear her, which is fine, because she knows that it’s Tuesday, or more importantly: Denver omelette with extra crispy bacon day. The bacon needs its own plate. “That boy needs to learn some manners. Some  _ respect! _ Acting like he owns the place. Bah!  _ I  _ own this place.”

He also owns the local supermarket and a gas station and a bar, all of which he apparently keeps quite cool, so why the hell couldn’t this place do the same? 

There's something in that that Byleth envies. He could fix any hole in any wall with the money he has. He could go wherever he wanted. Raise whatever dumb baby came into his life. The only thing that worried him was the fact that the thermostat in his diner read 75 and the thermostat in the grocery store read 65.

Her mind wanders to Dr. Nathair’s overly-expensive car with its five too many patent leather seats for his three-person family. She thinks back to when they met at the bus stop. She thinks of his hand in hers and his smile and the tired circles under his eyes… Wait. Why was he taking the bus when he had a fancy car? Maybe someone else was using it? Someone like his  _ wife _ ?

...everything always comes back to the guilt that festers inside her. She tries to shake it off.

“Breakfast, Hanneman?” She reminds him gently. 

“Right,” he huffs, and his silly mustache is aflutter. He opens up the menu like he would his morning paper, crisp and with a flick of his wrist to straighten it to the perfect reading angle. That’s when Byleth is glad she hasn’t written anything down yet because he orders a short stack of waffles with a side of scrambled eggs and two sausages on a separate plate.

Byleth nods and jots that down. “Anything else?”

“What’s the special pie today?” 

“Orange zest for life pie,” she tells him with a nod towards the chalkboard and Felix’s crappy handwriting. 

"I will have a slice.” He hands her the menu. “And what about the contest?”

She tucks it under her arm. “...what about the contest, Hanneman?”

He flicks open today's paper and skims for the most interesting headline he had found earlier: Divine Pulse to Play at Local Auditorium-- an auditorium which, no, he did not own. It was the university’s. "What are you planning on bringing to the contest?" The old man asks her. He enunciates each word carefully, as if she didn't hear him the first time and he sure as hell was going to make sure she did this time.

Byleth sighs, shifting her weight from one swollen achy foot to the other. When she had first heard about the contest, it had all seemed too good to be true, and perhaps it is. Perhaps it always was.

She tells him this, not in so many words-- after all, she is trying to get back to the rest of her tables. 

"I just can't. I can't go. I'm never gonna win anyways." 

The words sound… whiny and defeated when they leave her mouth, and they hang heavy in the air.

"That sounds like an excuse," Hanneman huffs. 

"Well, maybe it is, but it’s the truth. Even if I could get out there, put my best foot forward and everything, I wouldn't have a chance."

"Humor me, then" he says and gestures to the seat across from him. "What is your best foot forward?"

"Hanneman," Byleth sighs, half-incredulous and one-hundred percent done with the conversation, "I've got tables to wait."

"You wouldn't have tables to wait if it weren’t for me."

She wants to stare him down to get him to back off, but she knows it won't work. It never has before. The chair scrapes against the diner’s ugly grey-green checkered linoleum as she pulls it out from under the table and sits. "Well. What do  _ you _ think?"

“What do I think?”

Byleth rolls her eyes. “Yes, you.”

“I think any pie you enter is worth twenty-thousand dollars, and we’re all very lucky to have a slice for a mere three sixty.”

“Okay, that doesn’t help.”

“Then, what would help?”

“Telling me which pie I would submit to this pie contest-- if I was even thinking about entering it. Which I’m not.”

The old man scoffs and shrugs. “I don’t need twenty thousand dollars.”

“Course you don’t.” Byleth throws her hands up in the air and sits back, looking off to the side. “Why don’t  _ you _ give me twenty thousand dollars instead then?”

“Would you accept it?”

She looks at him with her lips pressed into a thin line. It was stupid of her to even joke about it. Of course the answer is no, she’s too proud for that. And it’s that same pride that keeps her from answering.

...

Silence.

Knowing he’s not going to let this drop, Byleth rolls her eyes  _ again  _ and runs through the ever-growing list of pies she’s ever made. 

The clatter of the diner continues around her, ever rhythmic, ever bustling. No one would miss her if she were gone. The noise would fill in the space she’d leave behind, and some other poor girl would take her old tables.

But not every poor girl could make pies like she does-- this she’s certain of.

Her mind wanders again. How does she even manage to do what she does? Like this morning when she made today’s special.

Orange zest for life pie. She began with the orange curd, same as she did every day: start with the orange concentrate and granulated sugar and eggs and... suddenly there was pineapple juice mixing in there too. Where’d that come from? There wasn’t a lot of it, but it was enough to make her start thinking things. Dirty things. 

_ Stop. _

She filtered all those dirty thoughts through a strainer and into a bowl, which set aside in the fridge so she could try to  _ forget about it  _ and then she was back on track. Back to her routine, making crust the same as she did every day. She prepped the tin for the crust until eventually she just had to come back to it. 

She came back to the dirty thoughts. No, wait. She came back to the pie. The vanilla, the granulated sugar. Seteth’s hands on her skin. Salt in the pie crust. Salt on his lips--

She just kept coming back to it, intermittently mixing it in with milk and eggs. Whisked it over medium heat and stirred in a little vanilla and butter. At some point, she absently threw in some cinnamon too and some honey until out of the blue she had this congealed… Mess before her.

_ God. _

Unsatisfied with how it was going thus so far, Byleth strained the custard into the pie crust. Aafter it had cooled, she thought maybe she could salvage it with a copious amount of whipped cream. Just bury it all with a beautiful mountain of fresh whipped cream. Then she sprinkled a little more cinnamon on top of it and frowned… And then a bit of shredded coconut.

The whipped cream looked kind of scandalous at one point.

Serving up a slice, she realizes, a little belatedly, that there’s a lot on her plate.

Presently, Byleth shakes her head. There’s nothing she can do about it now. She scoots out of her seat. "I'm gonna get your breakfast, okay?"

“You didn’t answer my question!” He calls after her.

“I’ll think about it!” She tells him (but she obviously won’t) and bustles herself away quickly.

She can hear the sounds of Annette and Felix going at it again growing louder as she warily approaches the kitchen. Annette’s voice is a tad softer than Felix’s. Weaker and shakier and full of tears. And Felix is terse, as always, but rather than his usual cranky self, he sounds  _ angry. _

Sure, they had their spats. It had always been that way since Annette had been hired the year before. She had taken one glance at their grumpy cook and said, “I think you should smile more” to which he promptly replied, “And you should speak less. Now order up.”

He shoved a short stack and two eggs over easy her way, and yolk got all over her brand new uniform. The rest was history.

It’s never gotten to the point where he’s made her  _ cry _ though.

Taking a deep breath to steel herself, Byleth walks in.

“Felix, you jerk! You can’t just say something like that!” Annette is looking small in the corner by the door, clutching her tray to her chest. Her big blue eyes are wet, and her bottom lip trembles. “You--! You…!!” She stamps her foot, unable to find the words. “ _ You jerk!! _ ”

“Hey. Hey..!” Byleth steps in, putting a comforting arm around her fellow waitress’ shoulders and pulling her close. She rubs small circles in her back. “What has gotten into you two? Felix! What did you do?” 

Felix slams some eggshells into the trash bin and continues with his work, hunched over the grill as if purposely avoiding looking at either of them. “Nothing!”

“Oh, so she just made  _ herself _ cry?”

He scowls. His voice is quiet when he says, “Told her to leave her husband.”

Byleth is aghast. “You--! You can’t just say something like that, you jerk!”

The chef briefly throws his gloved hands into the air. “Didn’t Annette just say the same thing?”

“I did!” Annette exclaims with an indignant sniffle. “Because you can’t!”

“Yeah!” Byleth nods. “Why would you even say that? Do you want her for yourself or something?”

It’s at this that the other two grow quiet. The crackling sound of Felix frying eggs fills the silence, and Byleth sits in it for a full minute, uncomfortable. After that full minute, with a stutter in her voice she finally decides to ask.

"D…  _ Do _ you want her for yourself?"

The longer she waits for a reply, the wider her eyes get. She at least expects Annette to deny it or question him herself, but she’s suddenly fallen mute too. She obviously already knows about it.

“ _ Annette, _ don’t tell me you too--”

It seems she’s stumbled upon something she didn’t mean to, and her stomach flips at this new dilemma.  _ These two were having an affair? _

What a small, unfaithful world they all live in.

The three of them stand in the kitchen quietly, each of them not knowing what to say until Felix breaks the silence.

“...shit,” he swears under his breath, and the air begins to smell vaguely of burnt eggs.

He futzes about with the stove, scooping someone’s ruined breakfast into the wastebin and starting over, while Byleth and Annette watch in silence. The former is still rubbing small circles into the latter’s back, unsure how to make heads or tails of the situation. She feels her guilt stirring inside her again. It's so strong it almost feels like morning sickness.

Byleth opens and closes her mouth, but no words come out for a very long time.

“How--” She stammers. “How long…?”

“How long what?” Felix snaps, slapping some bacon onto the grill.

“How long has  _ this-- _ ” She makes a vague, flapping gesture from behind Annette’s back-- “been a thing?”

Annette’s shoulders slump. “I don’t know!” She looks to Felix for assurance or confirmation or literally anything, but he doesn’t so much as glance her way, burying himself in his work. “It just…? It just sort of happened? Y’know? Slowly and… then it all happened at once and we kissed just that one time and I thought it was just that one time but it wasn’t and then it became more than kissing and--” She stops herself from blathering. “I don’t know.”

“Jesus.” Byleth holds up a finger and steps away to look at the dining room. It’s slow, and Marianne seems to be handling herself just fine out there. The grumpy trucker from earlier is gone, and the two other occupied tables are peacefully mid meal. Once she confirms this, she ducks back into the kitchen. She fixes her arms akimbo and looks almost disapprovingly between the two, though she probably isn’t in any position to judge.

…”probably”? 

Definitely.

“Okay,” she says. “So what now?”   
  
“What do you mean ‘what now?’” The cook growls with a scrape of his spatula across the grill. “I already told her to leave her husband.”

“Which I can’t do!” Annette cries, slamming her serving tray down for emphasis.

“I already told you I’d leave  _ my _ wife.”

“Well, that’s easy enough for you! You never even liked your wife anyways!”

Their voices rise steadily. Byleth watches them, knowing from past experience that she’d never be able to get a word in edgewise. She definitely won’t be able to break them apart. Once they start getting into it, they don’t stop. At this point, she’s just here to make sure he doesn’t make her cry anymore.

“Oh, and you like your husband?”

“I  _ love  _ him, Felix!” She argues, visibly offended.

“Suuuure.” Felix drawls as caustically as he can.   
  
“And what is that supposed to mean!” 

“You love him _soo_ much that _you_ were the one that kissed _me_ that one day a few months ago. You love him **_soo_** much that you said you considered taking up your in-laws’ offer to take him in--”

This strikes a chord with Annette, and she blanches. “Hey!”

The man slams the eggs and bacon onto a plate, throws the plate onto a tray, and slides it into the window. He punches the bell so hard that it dents. "Order up," he barks before turning back around, scowl pointed directly at Annette. “You love your husband  _ soo _ much, Annette, I forgot I’m just imagining this whole situation we’re in! I just imagined our whole affair!”

“That’s not fair!” At this, she breaks into tears again, and Byleth is immediately back at her side.

“Felix!” She snaps, but he ignores her.

“Not fair?” Felix scoffs, and if they weren’t in a kitchen, Byleth is sure he’s mad enough to spit. “I’m willing to risk it all for you. I’m willing to give up everything I have and know now for you, and you can’t even give me the same decency? Hell! You refuse to even realize that what I’m telling you is right! Why? Because you don’t actually want to be with me? Because you’re scared?”

“Felix, that’s enough!” Byleth’s hands ball into fists at her side.

Ever scowling and clearly frustrated, he stops, if only for a moment. Felix turns his cutting glare to her now.

“Oh, fuck off, Byleth! What? You feel bad because you can’t leave your shitty husband either? Yeah? And what’s your excuse? You don’t think we all see you chickening out of that stupid pie contest? Or refusing literally any of our help to get you out of your shitty marriage? You must know  _ all about _ refusing to make your life better. I don’t get it!”

“Oh, come on!” She shouts at him. “We all know it’s because--”

“You come in here, judging me, taking Annette’s side… You’re just gonna tell me I’m wrong, without knowing a goddamn thing! Because  _ you’re _ scared too, right? You’re scared, so you don’t wanna admit what’s actually right! Do you have any idea about the lies we have to live through? And she just wants to  _ ignore it _ and not do anything about it?”

Byleth opens her mouth and takes a step forward. “You know what, Felix? You’re right. I  _ am  _ scared. And you know what else?”

Time slows. It’s almost as if she’s in some other body, floating above her and watching her, trying to get her to just  _ shut up _ , but she feels the words clogging up her throat, ready to spill out. The guilt is simply eating her up. She wants him to know she does, in fact, understand. She wants to say that she knows what it’s like to want more than what she already has and to  _ actually get it.  _ She wants to tell them that she’s so incredibly jealous that they're both so privileged to be in a situation where they can just leave their unhappy marriages. She wants to tell them how she wants to run to Seteth’s arms and stay there--

And then it all stops.

“And just  _ what _ do you all think you’re doing?”

Hanneman’s grey head pokes in through the window, and he does not look happy.

Felix keeps his head low and ducks back to the safety of his grill, back turned to their boss. Annette is so surprised she stops crying near immediately, and Byleth grimaces, acutely aware of the ticket she never put up on the carousel. They hadn’t even started on the old man’s breakfast.

“Just where do you three get off making such a vulgar ruckus in  _ my _ diner? I’d have you all fired if I didn’t have anyone else in this dinky town to take your positions.”

“Sorry, Hanneman…”   
  
“Bah!” He scoffs and waves them off. “You all with your affairs and indiscretion. Leave your personal problems at the door before you come to work.” He huffs and begins to shuffle back to his booth. “And turn the air conditioning on!”

There’s a minute of silence.

Byleth realizes her hands are shaking.

With Hanneman out of the way, Marianne rushes in to peek through the window. “Is everything okay?” She asks in her usual, nervous way.

Byleth lets out the breath she had been holding. If it weren’t for Hanneman chewing them out, she probably would have said something she’d definitely regret. She looks to Annette, who’s still sniffling miserably in the corner, but at least the tears have stopped. She holds out a handkerchief to her, which she graciously takes and wipes her puffy eyes with. Felix keeps to himself by the stove, seemingly unaffected. Then again, they can’t see his face, so they would never know what exactly was going through his head.

Byleth hides her trembling hands behind her back. She nods and looks at Marianne’s worry-worn face. “Yeah. Yeah, we’re fine,” she says, picking up her tray again.   
  
Hanneman still needs his breakfast, and she needs to get it together. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S BEEN A WHILE HOW Y'ALL DOING. sorry this took so long to update and then bam there's just a whole lot of intense feelings in this one and not A Lot of Setleth but uh... i'm just trying to get into the swing of writing again! i just dunno if updates will be as consistent as i used to be before quarantine but i'm really trying y'all..... =w=;;;; i had a lot of cognitive dissonance writing this, since some ppl aren't big fans of the cheating aspect, which is a big reason why i stopped but... yknow what ! im ganbarimasu anyways
> 
> anyways !! i was accepted into the setleth zine and i got to write for the nsfw side zine !!! if ur interested you can purchase it [heeeeere](https://setlethzine.bigcartel.com/) !! we have so many wonderful and talented artists and writers and it was a real pleasure !!!!


	9. oreos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> add a pinch of happiness. (store-bought is fine if you don't have homemade.)

Dear dumb baby.

I'm sorry I'm nothing more than a chickenshit waitress. I'm sorry the only things I know how to do are bake pies and run away from my problems. But give me some credit, okay? I'm really trying here, and the results I get from trying make it feel like I'm not trying at all. I get it. I married the wrong guy, and I guess that's on me. I slept with my doctor while married to the wrong guy, and that's also on me. I still wanna sleep with him, actually, but you can't blame me for that one.

And why not?

Because I've lived the past six years _married to the wrong guy._

Actually this is all Aellis' fault, isn't it? Without him, I wouldn't have dropped out of college and had no other career options but being a chickenshit waitress in a too-small town. Without him, I wouldn't have to be stuck here with you. Without him, I wouldn't have to be shouldered with the shame of having an affair with my doctor, and this wouldn’t be a problem if I weren’t pregnant with you and married to him and….

You see how it's all going in circles? In fact, I think maybe I'm just spiralling.

\---

Byleth sits on the front porch of the diner after work, writing a letter to her baby in her head. She would have kept going if Annette didn’t sit next to her with a heavy sigh.

“Aellis isn’t picking you up today?” She asks.

“Of course not. He’s probably at home, too drunk to know what to do with himself,” Byleth replies with a sarcastic laugh.

That was probably too bad of a joke to crack after all they’d gone through today. They both sit in silence, watching the wind ruffle through the trees. The leaves rustle and whisper quietly for a minute before Annette decides to speak again.

“Are you okay?” She asks her, eyes still trained on some spot above the trees. A few wispy clouds are passing by in procession.

Byleth was always jealous of how Annette’s eyes are the same shimmering shade of blue as a summer day’s sky. The sky isn’t blue now, and it isn’t summer just yet. It’s spring, and the sun is setting, dragging reds and oranges into the horizon.

Byleth follows her gaze to the tops of the trees. She doesn’t think she can look her in the eyes. “Yeah, I’m okay,” she says, but only out of habit. There’s a lot on her mind still, none of it she thinks is right to dump onto Annette, especially right now. “Are _you_ okay?”

The younger woman practically deflates beside her with a huge sigh. “Honestly? No.”

“I bet.” Byleth leans forward and rests her elbows on her knees. Snidely, she thinks to herself that soon enough she won’t be able to do something as simple as that thanks to the dumb baby.

“I don’t know how this all just got away from me so fast.” Annette laughs, and she sounds almost angry about it. “But you know! He’s… Felix-- despite all the mean decorum he puts up, he’s actually… really sweet. He really cares about people, he’s just not good at showing it.”

“Forgive me if I have a hard time believing you.”

“Yeah, I know.”

They all know Felix could be…. Well, there are words for what he is, but none of them are very nice.

“I just… It’s nice to…” Annette shrugs and she melts into the porch, settling all her weight onto her hands propping her up behind her. “It’s nice to have… _something_ again, you know? Like… I wake up and I… put on a little lipgloss and hike up my skirt just a little more and… And Felix likes it, you know? He sees me come in and he gets… snappy, because he likes it. He likes it, and it’s fun. It’s the most fun I’ve had in years.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I know,” Byleth mumbles under her breath.

Annette rocks her slim body over and checks her in the shoulder. “I don’t think you know.”

Byleth wishes they could go back to saying nothing and watching the clouds slip by, but instead she turns her gaze to her coworker slyly. Annette’s sky blue eyes go as wide as dinner plates.

“ _No,_ ” she whispers incredulously and leans back forward. “No…! Who! Who is it!”

Byleth feels a weight lift off her chest and she just… _breathes._ She seethes a sigh before she confesses. “It was a one time thing. I’ve put a lid on it.”

“You did not!” Annette protests, grabbing her arm and giving her a zealous shake. “You did not put a lid on it. Who is it? Is it someone I know?”

She groans at being handled so vigorously. Annette was always very strong, despite being so tiny. It was another thing she envied her for. Byleth places her hands over hers to make her stop. “It’s uhm… It’s my doctor.” It’s silent for a moment, and Byleth is worried that Annette didn’t hear her the first time, so she begins to say again, “It’s my doc--”

“ _...YOUR DOCTOR?_ ” Annette yells, shooting to her feet. She stands in front of Byleth, towering over her. “ _YOU’RE PLAYING DOCTOR **WITH YOUR DOCTOR?**_ ”

Byleth can tell from the tone of her voice that she’s not angry… or at the very least she’s not judging her. She’s simply surprised. She gets loud when she’s surprised.

“I-I’m not,” Byleth says haltingly into her palms, “playing doctor with my doctor. I told you, it was… a one time thing.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, and you put a lid on it, whatever.” She doesn’t believe a single ounce of it. Annette squats back down so they’re eye level again. “What’s he like? What’d you do?”

Byleth peeks out from behind the gaps of her fingers and sees her friend’s blue eyes sparkling with excitement. It’s very hard to say no to her cute, petite face. “I… His name is Seteth. He’s… He’s kinda dorky? Awkward. Like he doesn’t know where his limbs are half the time. And he… seems to know what he wants to say but when he talks he just messes it up, and…. He’s sweet.”

Byleth finally takes her hands from her face and fiddles with the hem of her uniform before continuing. Annette is hanging on to every word like it’s the Bible or a new episode of Grey’s Anatomy.

“He’s sweet,” she says again, and she would leave it at that if Annette didn’t prod her for more.

“What’s he look like?” She asks.

“I… His eyes are really green.” Byleth feels stupid saying that, so she elaborates. “Like… Like those pictures you see on Facebook when your family’s off on a trip in some national forest and the sun is shining through the tops of the trees but… But like the light at the edges of the leaves, the brightest parts. That kinda green, you know?”

She feels even stupider now having just spit that all out, but Annette looks at her, expecting her to go on.

“I like his nose. It’s sharp, like the rest of his face, I guess. He’s all these hard angles, and his hands are--”

“Big?” Annette interrupts her, eyebrows arched playfully.

“Yeah, well, that and….” Byleth blushes and hates herself for it. “His hands are… I don’t know? Soft?”

“Gentle.”

The blush deepens. “Yeah.”

Annette grins-- she’s been grinning this entire time. “And you did it… just once?”

Byleth’s face returns to the safety of her palms. “...At least three times.”

She's ashamed. Ashamed of what this man is doing to her-- what he's making her out to be even though they hadn't even seen each other for weeks. She never needed anybody, and now? Now her head is brimming with the smell and feel of his crisp white shirt in her grasp. The memory of the wet seam of Seteth's mouth against hers…

She tries to shake the thoughts from her head, but all she manages to do is push them aside to one corner of her mind to be tripped over later.

“Huh.” Annette makes a neutral sound as if only to affirm that she had heard her, and the two of them sit in silence for a little bit before her curiosity gets the better of her. “...Was it good?”

“...Yeah.”

The little redhead whistles appreciatively. “Maybe I should meet him.”

“He’s married.”

“That didn’t stop you.”

A pause.

A snort.

The two of them collapse into a fit of giggles. Annette takes Byleth’s hands and gives them a squeeze as they lean into each other, laughing like school girls until their sides go sore. Just two fools experiencing first love a second time.

After a while, it’s Annette who catches her breath and speaks first. “You put a lid on it, huh?” She teases her.

“Yes,” Byleth lies as she wipes a tear from her eye. Well, at least-- “I’m not going to see him again.”

“He’s your _doctor_ , By. You can’t just not see him.” Ever the voice of reason.

“I’m… I’m scared,” Byleth says. The residual laughter in her numbs her fear a little. “I’m… I’m scared that I’m gonna look at those national park green eyes and I’m gonna fall right into them. I mean, I already did once.”

Annette nods and takes her seat on the porch again next to the other, leaning her cheek onto her shoulder. “I know.”

Byleth wraps an arm around her. “And not just that but… I’m just plain scared, Annette. I’m scared of causing a scene. I’m scared of… breaking the rules or something and… I’m scared of Aellis.”

“I know,” Annette says again.

They’re both back to watching the sky. It’s getting darker now, and the early spring chill descends upon them with eager fangs.

“I’m scared too,” Annette confesses. “What if… What if Felix and I are making a mistake? What if sometime down the road our play fighting turns into real fighting and…” She stops to sigh miserably. “But it’s so… fun! _Right now,_ not sometime down the road. It’s fun.”

“You’re crazy.”

“Yeah, maybe, but I know _fun_ is a lot better than whatever we’ve got going on. It’s like a breath of fresh air after living underground for years.” Annette shoulders her purse and stands. She holds out her hand.

Byleth takes it and allows herself to be pulled up. Aellis is probably wondering where she is at this point, and the thought doesn’t exactly excite her. “I don’t think outside air is any different from inside air.”

Even though she gets her to her feet, Annette still holds on to her hands. “Lemme put it in terms you’d understand. Life is an Oreo.”

“It sure is,” Byleth says with a chuckle.

“Life is an Oreo,” she says again, “and you’ve only been eating the nasty cookie part and throwing away the cream for as long as you can remember. Now whether you see him again is entirely up to you but… I think you need a little fun in your life, By. You gotta eat the whole Oreo.”

Byleth was always jealous of her optimism too.

\---

Byleth sits in the waiting room of Dr. Nathair’s practice, thinking to herself how she actually likes the cookie part of Oreos better. She’d been thinking about this for a month now.

An Oreo wouldn’t be a cookie without the cookie part. It’d just be a pile of frosting-- and life couldn’t possibly be sunshine, pecan pie, and rainbows all the time…. Then again, Oreos would be pretty shitty cookies without the cream. Actually, maybe that was Annette’s point.

Byleth was never any good with metaphors, even food related ones.

Besides, real life isn’t an Oreo, and in real life, she had the choice to eat just the cookie or the cream or both or… she doesn’t have to have the Oreo at all. She could still walk away from it all.

“Right. Just don’t eat the damn Oreo,” she says to herself, and a mom-to-be two chairs over looks at her funny.

That nurse who had gotten her name wrong before (she still hasn’t forgotten)-- Nurse Casagrande calls her in, and she’s grateful she doesn’t have to explain herself to this confused other woman.

“Just don’t eat the Oreo,” she mumbles as she dresses down in the privacy of the examination room. “Don’t eat the cookie. Don’t eat the cream. Don’t eat the cookie, don’t eat the cream.”

Byleth in her paper gown hefts herself onto the table. As her legs hang and swing off the edge, she stares at her toes in her worn crew socks and feels a little embarrassed about them. What did Seteth-- Dr. Nathair see in her? She shouldn’t flatter herself. She shouldn’t stir up trouble like this.

She hears footsteps approaching from down the hall, and they stop right before her door. She can picture Dr. Nathair there just on the other side, steeling himself to go in with his hand on the handle, and she can’t tell if her heart in her chest is beating too fast or if it’s stopped entirely.

She watches as the handle turns, and the door swings inward slowly.

Seteth ducks into the room with his clipboard and her file tucked under his arm.

"Ms. Eisner." He greets her politely with a subtle nod.

"Dr. Nathair." She nods in return. Swallows. So they’re no longer on a first name basis. That’s good.

“I…” He says and then realizes that’s not what he wants to say. He sets his papers down on the counter with a soft slap before turning to her. His handsome brow is crunched over his Facebook vacation photo eyes in an expression of worry. “You… you shouldn’t do that.”

Byleth is taken aback. “Do what?”

“Disappear for God knows how long and not… Call me.”

“I didn’t have any questions or concerns,” she replies smartly.

Seteth exhales through his nose and glances back and forth between her file and her face, searching for something to say with his lips pursed into a thin line.

She stares back at him, mirroring his look, and slowly she feels the resolve she’d built up over the past month start to crumble, but she knows she can do it. Just walk away. Don’t eat the cookie. Don’t eat the cream.

Perhaps it would have been better to have been given a metaphor that didn’t involve indulging in cream.

Seteth caves first. “So… we’re just going to forget what happened between us?”

Byleth forces herself to nod curtly. “I would like that.”

“...Okay.” Seteth sets his hands upon his waist, and Byleth remembers the sharp indent of his hips slipping past the elastic of his boxers and--

_Walk away._

“I’m sorry,” her doctor says. “I… didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything. In fact, I almost called you,” he admits with a stutter. “To apologize. I almost called you to apologize.”

Byleth watches his lips, thinking about how soft they planted kisses against her jaw and how the only words that ever slipped past them were kind. Awkward but… kind.

_Gentle_ is what Annette said.

“But… if you’re willing to put all that behind us... “ Seteth says. “I promise our relationship from now on will be strictly professional.”

He’s so gentle.

He's so gentle, and Byleth wants him to keep being gentle with her. She wants that goddamn cookie so bad without thinking she reaches out and grabs it while no one's looking.

She takes hold of his pinstriped tie and yanks him close, and when she kisses him he kisses back for a blissful second before reeling away.

"Byleth, no--!" Seteth exclaims and he turns away. She's about to apologize-- to claim she has no idea what just came over her but he then says, "Not with the door open."

Said door clicks mercifully shut a second later and he situates himself between Byleth's legs before leaning back in.

He tastes like mint.

He smells like expensive cologne.

He feels like a breath of fresh air after living underground for years.

His hands rest against the sides of her face-- but he’s not holding her there. He’s not keeping her from pulling away; she has that choice for herself. He’s simply… touching her for the sake of touching her, and she loves it. She’s secure there in his embrace, like a safety net…

Until of course the net gives way beneath her and her face slips from his grasp as the door swings open again.

“Dr. Nathair--”

Seteth pulls back as fast as he can and announces loudly, “I’m not sure I’ve ever heard of pregnancy worsening a mother’s eyesight but I will definitely look into this, yes.”

“Thank you, Dr. Nathair,” she says, hiding her kiss-bruised lips behind her hand. She glances at the nurse that had just interrupted them.

“...Interesting,” Ms. Casagrande says, clearly nonplussed. “Uhm… Mrs. Albion just filled in your 5 o’clock slot. Said it’s urgent.”

“Thank you for that… very important piece of information.” Seteth turns to the nurse with his hands shoved deep into his whitecoat pockets, rocking innocently back and forth on the balls of his feet. "Nurse Casagrande, would you mind penciling in Ms. Eisner for an appointment tomorrow?"

" _Tomorrow?_ " She echoes him incredulously.

"Yes, Manuela," he says in a very no-nonsense tone that stirs up a flutter in Byleth's stomach. "Tomorrow at the same time." He looks to the waitress. "Does that sound good?"

"Sounds perfect."

___

Byleth can’t stop smiling while she rides the bus back home that day after meeting with Seteth.

She can’t stop smiling even when she reaches her house and Aellis is black out drunk on the couch, and she _definitely_ doesn’t stop when she tucks away a portion of her tips under the kitchen sink. Her stash is adding up rather nicely.

She smiles at work through the next day, even when Hanneman’s early morning grumpiness is amped up to an 11 and Marianne drops a jar of maraschino cherries behind the counter. Even when Felix unhelpfully watches her shoulder six plates and clicks his tongue and calls her a freak under his breath. Annette understands though, and from the other side of the floor she gives her a thumbs up and a bright grin.

And when Byleth hops onto that bus again for her next appointment, her cheeks _ache_ but....

She’s having fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LONG TIME NO SEE i watched waitress b**tleg w my partner for valentine's day and _immediately_ ran back to my docs to finish this chapter and ive already started on the next.... and i promise that chapter is going to have so much setleth content i am feeding you all so well next chapter >:D look forward to it

**Author's Note:**

> i thought about this and i didn't know what to do with myself until i wrote it !!! this is my two favorite things (fe3h and waitress!) mixed up and baked into one very self indulgent pie :3
> 
> follow me on twit at [plcntagenet](twitter.com/plcntagenet) if u wanna <3


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